Love and Memory
by augiesannie
Summary: She wants nothing more than to remember the past. He wants nothing more than to forget it. An AU story influenced by the Story of the Trapp Family Singers and Maria's memoirs. Please leave me a review!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

"Almost there," Georg muttered to himself. He'd guided submarines along the ocean floor, miles deep in the ink-dark, frigid sea. It should be no challenge at all, to navigate the last few kilometers of the country lane that led to the villa, even in this wretched late-night storm.

The foul weather matched his mood. He had planned to stay in Vienna for at least a month. But he'd been there barely a week when the telephone call came from Frau Schmidt, advising him that the latest governess had stormed out of the house, so furious about some prank involving toothpaste that she didn't even wait for her wages. He wasn't surprised, having suspected from the beginning that Fraulein Josephine – or was it Fraulein Helga? - didn't appreciate the role of discipline in managing his children, just like her predecessors. All nine of them.

He was forced to drive slowly, since the slapping wipers could barely keep up with the deluge. Rain drummed relentlessly on the car's roof. The occasional flash of lightning showed the way, but it also revealed stately trees swaying like grass against the force of the wind.

Georg growled in frustration as the car crept along the narrow road. He'd foolishly promised Elsa he'd return to Vienna within three days, even though he suspected it might well take longer than that to find another governess and get her situated. Then again, after the way the two of them had argued earlier today, it might be just as well that they'd been forced to take a short break from each other.

"Elsa, we've been through all of this before. Even though we're both inclined to make things official, we can't finalize anything until-"

"You make it sound like one of your business deals, Georg."

"Look, Elsa, we're not children. We've both been married before. We enjoy each other's company, we make each other laugh, and neither one of us expects to feel the way we did when – be reasonable, Elsa. You can't agree to marry me until you come to Salzburg and meet my children. You'll be their stepmother, for heaven's sake."

She winced. "At least when it comes to the older ones, I'd prefer to think of myself as some kind of - confidant. Or mentor, maybe. And you ought to be considering boarding school for them, in any event. As for the younger ones, I'm sure they're charming, certainly more charming than you make them sound, but they have a governess, don't they?"

"Yes, Elsa, but still, they are children. Children who lost a mother that most of them can remember. They need time to get to know you."

"Georg. I promise you, I _will_ come to Salzburg to meet them. As soon as my sister's baby is born. I can't possibly leave now, what with her in her eighth month."

As though Elsa Schrader's services as a midwife were required, he grimaced. He had more experience with childbirth than she'd ever have! In the year since they'd started discussing marriage, it seemed like she'd come up with one excuse after another. First her sister's wedding, then she was chairing the Opera Ball, then the weather had been too cold, and now this latest excuse.

He hated being put in this position, having to coax Elsa into to take steps toward a marriage he was only lukewarm about himself. Under no circumstances would he beg her to come to Salzburg, _that_ much was certain.

"Anyway, Georg, I don't see what the rush is to seal the deal. As you say, we're not children. We've both been married before. We _could_ be doing much more to enjoy each other's company in the meantime," Elsa said. She paused to blow two perfect smoke rings before adding boldly, "in bed."

They'd had this argument before as well. The irony was inescapable: he'd been an unrepentant rake in his bachelor days, and half of Vienna probably assumed that he and Elsa were lovers. But the truth was, the prospect of their wedding night filled him with dread. He _was_ fond of Elsa, and grateful for everything she'd done to bring some meaning back into his life. But if he didn't want her that way now, what would it be like later? A wedding ceremony wouldn't make a difference. He'd tried to put her off with talk of honor and respect, but she was having none of it.

Their argument had been interrupted by the call from Frau Schmidt, and their parting a few hours later had been more than a little awkward.

"Come back to me soon," Elsa murmured in a low, smoky voice, wrapping her arms around his neck. "It's terribly lonely around here without you, you know."

He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and when she turned and offered her mouth to him, he acquiesced, wanting to make things right between them. After a moment or two, though, when she began to melt against him, he found himself abruptly pulling away.

"I'm sorry, Elsa. It's not your fault, it's only that I've got a lot on my mind. And I've got to get on the road before the weather turns."

She was staring at the floor, but he could see the red flush creep up her neck.

"I _know_ it's not my fault, Georg," she said in a low voice. "Because I've never had a man refuse an invitation to my bed. When two people talk of marriage…"

"Let's give it some time, darling," he said, wanting to believe it himself. In many ways, Elsa had been an answer to his prayers: a bearable way to move forward with his life, without disturbing Agathe's place in his heart, without forcing him to confront the memory of the only woman he'd ever love.

But in drifting toward marriage to Elsa Schrader, he'd somehow neglected to consider certain realities. In the four years since Agathe's death, it had taken only a few forced, empty encounters to confirm that he'd lost all interest in women, at least _that_ way.

Elsa offered him a tight-lipped smile. "You _will_ be back for the party, Georg, won't you?"

He'd forgotten all about the coming weekend, and his promise to be her guest of honor at a "grand and glorious party. So you can meet my friends, Georg, and they can meet you." Well, he could hardly deny her that when she was being patient about the other.

"Yes, Elsa darling. Of course. I'll be back in three days' time. I promise."

His thoughts were interrupted when, out of nowhere, an enormous tree branch flew straight at him, borne on a gust of wind. It spun wildly through the air until it came to rest with a thud against his windscreen, completely blocking his view. Cursing, he slammed on the brakes, set his shoulders against the cold, gusty deluge, and got out to drag the branch over to the side of the road. Then, he circled the car quickly, straining in the gloom to satisfy himself that it could still be driven safely.

Halfway around the car, he sensed some movement by the side of the road, a quick, flickering glow, just outside his field of vision. Had the night had been fine, it could have been a small patch of moonlight, but of course that wasn't possible. Georg shrugged it off, whatever it was, probably just the way his headlights were reflecting off the puddles and sheets of rain that surrounded him. He was cold, thoroughly soaked and miserable, and the thought of a warm fire and a brandy or two distracted him from any other concern.

He had finished his circuit and was halfway inside the car when he heard it: a low moan that reminded him of an injured man's cries under the roar of battle. Although he knew it was ridiculous, the very idea that anyone would be out in this weather, the memory was enough to force him to haul himself out of the car again, and to make a more careful survey of his surroundings.

It didn't take long to locate her, crumpled on the floor of the bus shelter that stood by the side of the road. A girl, not much older than his daughters. Short hair plastered wetly against her face, thickly lashed eyes closed like dark smudges against her pale, luminous face. The freckles stood out against her skin like shavings on snow. Despite the weather, she was clad in a gossamer-thin pink dress, littered with pleats and bows that lay in wet drifts around her, although her feet were incongruously shod in clumsy, worn black boots. No bag, no hat, no jewelry.

"Fraulein?"

The girl was trembling with fear or cold, or both, and she only muttered incoherently when he shook her shoulder and attempted to rouse her.

There was no choice: he simply did what needed to be done, scooping her up, as easily if she were a bag of feathers, and depositing her in a dripping, ungainly heap in the front seat of his car. And then he drove on into the night, casting sideways glances at his cargo. But she barely stirred, only emitting the occasional murmur.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sprinting from the car to the villa's front door, leaning on the bell until Franz appeared. "Leave it open," Georg shouted against the howling wind, and went back to retrieve her. She was limp in his arms, but when he got her into the foyer, surrounded by light, warmth and a bustling flurry of children and servants, she startled awake with a wild-eyed cry of alarm.

"Come, now," he said, "there's nothing to be afraid of." He tried to set her on her feet, but she wound her arms around his neck and clung to him with surprising strength.

What had he gotten himself into?

"Fraulein," he said firmly. "Nothing is going to happen to you here. You are safe. You need only tell us your name."

Around him, the chaos slowly subsided and the foyer grew quiet. Frau Schmidt, Franz, a housemaid or two. Liesl, Friedrich and Louisa, though they should have been in bed by now. They surrounded him as he stood, helpless, water dripping everywhere. All eyes were on the young woman in a muddy pink dress who huddled against his chest, refusing to let go of him.

She turned her wide-eyed gaze on him. Her eyes were a startling blue, the blue of skies and lakes. There was fear there, but an odd emptiness, too.

"Your name, Fraulein?" Georg demanded.

But she had no answer for him.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Welcome to my new story! It's dedicated to all the fabulous TSOM fanfic writers whose stories I haven't reviewed in months because I've been obsessing over this story. It would take an awful lot of nerve for me to ask you for a review (but I will anyway). There are lots more chapters ahead! Parts of this story are based on the "real" M &G story told in The Story of the Trapp Family Singers. And parts of it are pure AU. I don't own anything about TSOM, this is all for love.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She must be in heaven, because she'd never known a bed like this on earth – roomy, supremely comfortable, with soft sheets, plump pillows, and a feather-light duvet. But then she decided that she must still be alive, because she was _starving_. She squinted open one tentative eye to find two small girls standing not a foot away from her, staring.

"Good morning!" she said. The younger one threw back her shoulders and flashed a big smile, but it was the older one, a brunette, who spoke a shy "good morning" in return.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"My name is Marta," the older girl said, 'and this is-"

The long, shrill blast of a whistle filled the air. The younger girl gasped, and without another word, the pair turned and dashed from the room.

Strange.

This place, whatever it was, was lovely. The sun streaming through the big windows turned the walls lemon-yellow. Besides the big bed, the room was furnished with an armoire, a dainty desk and a comfortable armchair. She was wondering what to do about her empty stomach when a knock at the door signaled the arrival of a distinguished looking older woman in a gray dress and starched white apron, who carried a bundle of clothing.

"Good morning," the woman said. "I am Frau Schmidt, the housekeeper here. And you are?"

"M-Marta," she fumbled. "Yes, my name is Marta." That was right, wasn't it?

"How nice! Just like our Marta!" Frau Schmidt smiled.

"What is this place?"

"You're in Aigen. At the home of Captain Georg Von Trapp."

"Captain?"

"A retired officer of the Imperial Navy. A fine man, and a brave one. He found you by the side of the road during last night's storm, soaking wet, shivering with the cold and barely conscious. Poor dear, you couldn't even get upstairs by yourself! He had to carry you up here, and then I got you settled for the night. We were all terribly worried about you, but you're looking much better already! Now," the housekeeper gestured, "the bathroom is right through there if you'd like to wash up. Your clothes from last night were barely salvageable, so I've brought you some clothes of Liesl's. That's her nightgown you're wearing."

"Liesl? Does she work here too?"

Frau Schmidt laughed. "No, she's Captain Von Trapp's eldest daughter. She's sixteen years old."

"Oh! Does she have two little sisters? They were here when I woke up."

"The Captain has _seven_ children," the older woman explained proudly, as though she deserved all the credit. "Two boys and five girls."

"Seven children!"

"Do you like children?"

"Well, yes. At least I _think_ so." Why was that question so difficult to answer? She hastened to change the subject. "I'll just go wash up, and I'll be on my way," though she wasn't entirely sure where she'd be going. But Frau Schmidt shook her head.

"You're not going anywhere until you're seen by Dr. Weiss, the Captain's personal physician. We sent for him first thing this morning. You're to stay in bed until you're cleared for duty. Captain's orders. I'll have Miri - she's one of the housemaids - bring up a tray."

An hour later, M was gobbling the last crumbs of an enormous, delicious breakfast when the doctor appeared, an elfin man, no taller than she was, with wisps of white hair and warm brown eyes. "Good morning, Fraulein - what did you say your name was?"

"M-Miri," she said uncertainly.

The doctor gave her a swift, appraising look. "A pleasure to meet you, Fraulein Miri." He began his thorough examination. "If you'd unbutton a bit, I'll listen to your heart." As she did so, he continued, "How old are you, my dear?"

"Why do you need to know that?"

"It helps me assess the situation."

"I'm – ehrm – I'm – I'm sixteen. Yes. I'm sixteen," she repeated.

His head was bent to his work, but she saw his shoulders stiffen and she knew she'd made a mistake. Why couldn't she remember how old she was?

At last, he straightened up and pronounced her healthy, but worn out. "The rest of the day in bed, and a few more days close to home, with good food and rest, and you'll be fine. Where did you say you were from?"

"Oh, _you_ know," she said. It was ridiculous, that she couldn't think of the name of the place, though it seemed to be hanging right on the tip of her tongue.

"No, I don't know," the doctor said smoothly, "that's why I asked you."

"I'm from around here. In town," she said, trying to sound casual.

"Hm. I see," he said, as though he didn't really see at all. "Well, then, Fraulein Miri, I will step out for a minute or two, and then I will return with Captain von Trapp." With a courteous bow, he left the room.

She heard a muted buzz of conversation out in the hallway and there was just enough time to scramble into her borrowed clothes before a sharp rap came at the door and the doctor returned with a handsome, middle-aged man: Captain von Trapp. The Captain filled the room with his presence, not only because he was quite tall and broad shouldered, but because his formal bearing gave him an air of authority.

"Good morning," he said briskly. "Fraulein - what was your name again?"

Suddenly, what had been a small pinch of worry blossomed into waves of panic that washed over her. The truth was, she couldn't remember who she was, or where she was from, or who her people were. _Nothing_. These people would surely think her insane, they would send her away, and where would she go?

"M-" she fumbled.

"Well, that's just it, you see. Frau Schmidt told me your name is Marta, but Doctor Weiss here says your name is Miri. Which is it?"

"Miri-Marta. That's my name," she said hastily, wincing at the obvious lie. "I use both of them. Depending."

"And the doctor says you are from this area? What is your last name, your family name?"

"You wouldn't know it," she said, desperately attempting to sound casual. "You see, while I live here now, my family home is far from here."

"I'm quite well travelled," he assured her. "I know every corner of Austria, in fact. Where, exactly, _are_ you from, Fraulein?"

Her eyes roamed wildly around the room before settling on a pretty seascape hanging on the wall.

"The coast," she blurted.

Something odd flickered across his face.

"Ah. The Austrian coast. I see. Well. You had us all worried last night when I came upon you in that bus shelter. Tell me, how did you come to be there? Out in the road, alone, in a dangerous storm?"

"I was taking a walk," she said weakly.

His firm mouth narrowed and his blue eyes fixed her with chilly, severe look before, hands tucked behind his back, he began to pace the room.

"Fraulein whatever-your-name-may-be. I quite possibly saved your life last night. I took you into my home with no knowledge of who you are, or whether you might pose a threat to my family or my household. The least you can do is be truthful with me-"

The bubble of panic in her chest began to expand. When his gaze locked with hers, her skin prickled with fear and she felt her eyes fill with tears.

The Captain stopped his pacing quite abruptly, and the anger drained from his face.

"- unless you can't." he said quietly. "Is that it?"

"I was thinking the same thing, Georg." Doctor Weiss came to stand by the bed.

"I saw it often enough, at war." The Captain turned to her. "Now. I want a truthful answer from you, Fraulein. You don't know who you are, do you? Or how you got here. "

She looked from one man to the other. "I d-don't understand."

"Explain it to her, Leo," the Captain gestured impatiently at Doctor Weiss and went to stare out the window.

"Fraulein," Doctor Weiss said, perching on the edge of the bed and taking her hand. "Did something happen to frighten you? A threat to your safety, or maybe just very bad news?"

"I don't know," she said reluctantly, but his face was so full of kindness and understanding, that she found herself confessing, "I don't _remember_. I can't remember a thing."

"Sometimes," the doctor explained gently, "something so distressing occurs that the mind chooses to forget rather than deal with the stress. People in this situation can become confused. Frequently, they will travel away from familiar surroundings to discover or create new identities. Fortunately, the situation is temporary. With rest and complete relaxation, the memories slowly return."

"How long will that take?" she said, trying to swallow back the terror that threatened to overwhelm her. "I don't even know my own name! Or where I live, or about my family!"

The doctor patted her hand. "It's very important to be patient, to let those memories surface on their own, do you understand? They will come when they're ready. Don't strain for it or force yourself to remember; it will only prolong the process and make things worse. Now-" he turned to rummage in his battered medical bag – "I believe I have a tonic in here that will help you, if you can give me a moment."

Captain von Trapp left his post by the window, striding across the room and pausing at the door. "Fraulein. You are welcome to stay here as long as is needed," he said gruffly. "I'm afraid I'll only be here until tomorrow, but Frau Schmidt will see to your care, I can assure you."

"Where will you be going?" she asked to be polite, although he didn't seem the chatty type.

"Vienna."

"Will the children be going with you?"

He looked annoyed. "No. They will remain here with their governess."

"But your wife is going with you?"

There was a long, awkward pause. The Captain's blue eyes turned to ice, and she could have sworn the entire room felt ten degrees colder.

"Their mother," he said curtly, "is dead."

"I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't-," she stammered, but he kept talking over her apology.

"They have just been abandoned by the tenth in a long line of governesses who have come to care for them since their mother died. The eleventh is expected tomorrow, fortunately, as I am anxious to return to Vienna as soon as she arrives."

"What's wrong with the children?" she asked.

"There's nothing wrong with the children," he said coolly. "Only the governesses. They were completely unable to maintain discipline. You will soon see for yourself, Fraulein, that this house cannot be run without it. Now. I must tend to some matters downstairs, so that I can be on my way as quickly as possible tomorrow."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left her alone with the doctor.

"Doctor," she hesitated. "I can see that I'd just be in the way here. If you ask Frau Schmidt for my things, I can be dressed and ready to go quickly. I don't want to be any trouble to anyone."

Doctor Weiss chuckled.

"Don't let Georg bother you. His bark is worse than his bite, and he'll be leaving again tomorrow in any event. In your situation, it would not be safe for you to leave, and anyhow, you have nowhere to go! No, you'll stay here at least for a few days, and if you're lucky, your memory will return quickly. Meanwhile, plenty of rest today, and nothing more strenuous than sitting on the terrace for the rest of the week. Wholesome food, long naps and good books, my dear Fraulein M. The Captain's library is impressive, so you might want to take advantage of it. By the way, you're not sixteen. In your early twenties, I'd guess. There's probably some young man out there who's moping about, worried about you." Then, with a wink and a last pat on the hand, the doctor departed.

The afternoon passed peacefully. She took a long nap, enjoyed a generous tea tray with enough strudel for an entire family, got settled into her room, and spent a great deal of time admiring the beautiful view out her window, where the lake sparkled in the sunshine and majestic mountains reached up to a perfect blue sky. At one point, she spied a long row of children, dressed in identical sailor suits, marching across the grounds in a straight, orderly line. It was a curious sight, and she wondered when she'd have a chance to meet these unusual children.

Later in the day, Frau Schmidt gave her a tour of the villa, pointing out the nursery and the Captain's suite upstairs, and the various rooms downstairs, before settling her down in the kitchen for an ample dinner.

"The children are dining with their father tonight," the housekeeper explained. "Dinner is very formal when the Captain is in residence. After he leaves, well, then, perhaps you'll want to dine with the children and their governess. I thought you might want a chance to get used to things first," the older woman said kindly.

"I couldn't help noticing that Captain von Trapp seemed very eager to return to Vienna," M said.

"Yes, I suppose he is. He's going to visit Elsa Schrader. _Baroness_ Elsa Schrader," Frau Schmidt corrected herself. "She's a wealthy widow, someone he's been seeing for some time. The last time he visited her, he stayed for more than a month. I shouldn't be saying this to you – I don't know you that well - but if you ask me, the Captain's thinking seriously of marrying her before summer's over."

"That would be wonderful! Then the children will have a mother!"

"Hm," Frau Schmidt said. The ensuing silence was clearer than any explanation might have been.

"Is-" M hesitated, but Frau Schmidt seemed like a friendly, approachable sort – "is Captain von Trapp always so serious? So severe? It's hard to imagine him being – ehrm – _romantic_ enough to be courting anyone."

"No." The housekeeper shook her head sadly. "Very little remains of the young man whose household I joined twenty years ago. He could be _quite_ charming. A wicked sense of humor. But very kind, and the most devoted husband and father you can imagine. Of course he has a certain formal air. You'd expect nothing less from a man with aristocratic roots and years of experience in military command. But ever since his poor wife died, he runs this house like one of his ships. No music, no laughter, nothing that reminds him of her. Including the children. One of the girls, Louisa, is her mirror image."

"Yet he has taken me into his household," M observed. "He didn't have to do that."

"Yes. He is still a decent man at heart, of course. Well. I hope your time here is happy, Fraulein- what shall I call you?" Frau Schmidt asked.

"Fraulein will do fine," M assured her new friend, standing and stretching with a great yawn. Although the sun had barely set, she felt ready to settle into that big, comfortable bed, and to ponder her predicament. Where was her family? Were they worried about her? She didn't think she was married, but did she have a beau, as Doctor Weiss had suggested? She reminded herself of his advice, not to strain for memories she couldn't find.

One thing she did find, easily, was the instinct to settle on her knees, to ask the Lord to protect her and her family from harm and fear until they could be united again. It was only after she'd gotten to her feet again that she saw it: a small glass vase by the side of the bed, spilling over with a mixture of garden weeds and real flowers. The little girls had paid her another visit, apparently. Smiling, she curled up in bed, and let her mind wander to the strange world of the villa von Trapp, until sleep found her at last.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She slept late the next morning, awakened by the sound of a doorbell and then, a minute later, the same long, shrill string of whistled signals she'd heard yesterday, followed by a racket of banging doors and running footsteps. Curious, she slipped from her bedroom and crept down the hallway just far enough to get a good view of the commotion: what seemed like an entire platoon of uniformed children, flying out of the nursery, arranging themselves in formation, and then marching down the great staircase, and into the vast foyer below. They were arrayed so precisely that the gap was obvious, a gap filled quickly by a young girl with long brown locks who wandered into the foyer from another direction, her nose buried in a book.

Captain von Trapp stood in the foyer, next to a short, stout woman who watched the scene impassively. He walked slowly down the line of children, adjusting a tie here, correcting posture there. The children stood expressionless; not a single one of them smiled or even seemed to meet his eyes.

From where she stood, safely behind a column in the upstairs gallery, she couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but there was no mistaking what happened next: he put a silver whistle to his lips and, one by one, the children stepped forward to shout their names in response to their signals.

She whispered the names to herself, one after the other, and then watched in disbelief as their father dismissed them and they marched out the front door. Five girls, two boys. She recognized the littlest two girls from their visit yesterday, and once again, wondered when she'd have a chance to meet them herself and learn more about them.

The uniforms. The whistles. The marching. Surely this was some strange family game? Frau Schmidt had said something about the house being like one of his ships, but there was something not quite right about it. Shaking her head she returned to her room to breakfast, bathe and dress.

An hour later, she made her way timidly down the stairs, clutching the banister for support. She wondered if Captain von Trapp would seek her out to say goodbye before leaving for Vienna. Or had he already left, now that the new governess was in place? She'd so wanted a chance to thank him for his hospitality. And, she admitted to herself, she was curious to see him up close, and even talk with him, now that she knew more about him and his sad past.

All of a sudden, chaos descended on the household. It all happened so fast! There was a shrill scream from the nursery, followed by the sound of laughter mingled with angry shouts. A grim-faced Frau Schmidt hurried up the stairs, passing M without a word. Doors slammed. She glimpsed the butler crossing the foyer to use the telephone.

Within minutes, the new governess came barreling down the stairway, and, stopping only to scream a last few accusations out into the open foyer – something about wild animals, and discipline, and whipping – she flung open the front door and hurled herself into a waiting taxi.

Before she lost her nerve, M hurried back up the stairs and followed the muffled sounds of laughter until she found the children, all seven of them, lounging around the nursery, a large, comfortable room lined by tall windows, and filled with bookshelves, tables and chairs. The laughter ceased abruptly and the room fell silent when she entered.

"Hello," she said. "I know we've crossed paths just a bit, but we haven't been introduced. I wanted to thank Liesl for the clothes. And Marta and Gretl – is that right? – for the precious gift you left on my nightstand last night."

The youngest girl giggled, but the older children exchanged uneasy glances. They'd obviously expected to be interrogated about the governess' departure. It was the girl in the middle, the one who'd had her nose buried in a book, who broke the ice.

"What's your name?"

She couldn't think of anything to tell them except the truth.

"Well, you see, Brigitta, I'm not quite sure about that at the moment, except that it starts with an 'M'. I've had a bit of a – an illness. I can't remember a great deal about who I am, or where I'm from. It's only temporary," she finished.

"Our mother had an illness," said one of the older girls.

"Yes, Louisa – you are Louisa, aren't you? I know, Louisa, and I'm terribly sorry about that. I'm told you are the mirror image of your mother, is that right?"

The girl broke into a radiant smile.

"This is not the same kind of illness, though. I'll be fine soon, and on my way home, but your father has most generously agreed to let me stay here in the meantime."

"How did you know our names?" said the oldest boy, a tall blond. Friedrich.

"I heard you introduce yourselves to your new governess. What happened with her, anyway?"

There was a long, awkward silence, as though they were waiting for her to find fault with them, but when she remained silent, the oldest girl, Liesl - who had her father's striking blue eyes - began to explain.

"Marta's birthday is next week. Tuesday. It's bad enough that he missed Friedrich's birthday last week -"

The older boy interrupted. "I'm fourteen. It doesn't bother me anymore. But Marta is only six-"

"I'll be seven on Tuesday," Marta interjected.

"He only comes home when he has to find us a governess, you know, so we tried to time everything so that he'd be here on Tuesday. We thought he'd stay longer, but we miscalculated, I guess. He told us at breakfast this morning that as soon as the new governess arrived, he was leaving again," Liesl said mournfully. "So what else could we do?"

"What did you do to her?"

"Snakes," the younger boy – what was his name again? Klaus? No, Kurt! _Kurt._ That name meant something special to her, though she didn't know what. Kurt cackled gleefully, nudging his older brother in the ribs. "Snakes in the bathtub." He had an impish manner that made her smile, even though she knew she ought to look gravely concerned about the poor governess who'd found a snake in her bath.

After a few minutes' more conversation, and a promise to return to the nursery later, M set out for the kitchen. Along the way, she passed the library. "There are certain rooms in this house that are not to be disturbed," Frau Schmidt had warned her, but with the door ajar, she couldn't help but overhear Captain von Trapp's side of a telephone conversation. So he hadn't left for Vienna yet. And he didn't sound happy about it:

"No, Elsa, I have not forgotten my promise to be back in Vienna tomorrow, and I will do my best to honor that promise, but…"

"Of course I am an honorable man. We're talking about a _party_ , for heaven's sake. I simply cannot abandon ship just because…"

"Believe me, darling. I am utterly miserable, stuck here in the country without you. And I _am_ sorry that I did not call as soon as I got here. I ran into some difficulty on the road, you see."

That last remark disturbed her – not only because she knew _she_ was the difficulty in question, but at the unfeeling statement that he was miserable being at home with his children. But it also reminded her that she was being dreadfully rude, eavesdropping this way, and she began to scurry toward the kitchen. Alas, it was too late.

"Fraulein. If you're going to lurk in the hallway, you may as well come in," he called to her, before returning to the telephone. "Nothing, Elsa. It's just – it's no one. Look, I'll call you later, hm?" and then he rung off.

"I'm sorry, sir," she fumbled, sidling into the room, which was lined with bookshelves and smelled agreeably of leather and wood. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just wanted to thank you again for taking me in. It's very kind of you."

The girl was as nervous as a new filly, eyes darting about the library while she ran her hands through her hair until it stood on end. Now that she'd been cleaned up and given a drab castoff dress, she turned out to be pretty, if a bit disorganized looking: blond, quite slender, all sharp angles and awkward gestures, but with an arresting blue gaze. There was something about her that Georg found vaguely irritating. Why had he called her in here instead of letting her go on her way to the kitchen?

Or maybe it was simply that _everything_ about his current situation annoyed him. He missed Elsa, certainly, but much as it pained him to admit it, it was really the thought of being stranded at the villa – his home – that aggravated him most.

His children frustrated him beyond measure; they were a constant reminder of everything he'd lost, yet they went about their lives without a care. He knew that was unfair – he hadn't forgotten the dismal days and wretched nights after Agathe's death, when even the baby had cried pitifully for a mother she'd never really know. But somehow, four years later, they'd moved on without him. _They_ didn't see Agathe in every corner, hear her voice echoing in empty rooms, _they_ didn't catch her scent in the air. He was plagued by those memories, memories he did his best to escape at any opportunity.

"Sir?"

"Ah. Forgive me, Fraulein. My mind is occupied with business matters. How are you getting along? With your memory, I mean."

"Nothing yet," she admitted, "although I am fairly sure my name starts with the letter M, that's something. And it's only been a day."

"Hm. It happens to men at war as well. Some kind of terrifying experience that shocks the mind into forgetting everything. Rest and quiet and time will do the trick, you'll see."

"I'm reasonably certain this didn't happen to me on any battlefield," she said, and was rewarded by the tiniest upturn at the corner of his mouth, like the ghost of a smile.

"Frau Schmidt said you were a naval hero in the war. Knighted by the emperor, if I'm not mistaken?"

"That was a long time ago. A very long time ago," he said brusquely, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to this governess business."

"Well then. Thank you again. And I hope you will tell me if I can be of any help," she offered politely. She found the Captain quite intimidating, even harsh, but he had, after all, opened his home to her.

He looked at his watch. "Only if you can conjure a governess out of thin air. The agency won't send any more candidates here. I even tried Nonnberg Abbey, but every time I call, the person who answers the phone sounds terribly distracted. They've got some kind of emergency there, and told me to call back next week. I can't wait until next _week_!"

She didn't stop to think before the words flew from her mouth.

"Captain," she said impulsively, "I could watch them for you."

"You can't be serious! It would be too much of an imposition."

"Who is imposing on whom, Captain? I have no other way to thank you for taking me in. And this way, you can be on your way to Vienna, just like you planned. I know it's a bit unusual. After all, you don't know me. _I_ don't even know me," she said ruefully, "but the children will be perfectly safe, with Frau Schmidt and the others around. I've been getting to know them, and they are lovely children. You must be so proud of them!"

"My children?" he said sourly. "Wait and see. You'll change your tune soon enough." But he had already risen to his feet; apparently it wasn't going to take much to convince him.

"Is there anything special about their routines I ought to know? Bedtimes? Schoolwork?"

He snorted. "Schoolwork? There as a time when I just assumed my children would attend university, but with all the governesses coming and going, they've fallen so far behind on their studies they'll never catch up." He looked at his watch again. "If you're certain, then, Fraulein, I'm going to finish packing and be on my way."

Captain von Trapp was out the door and down the hallway, moving almost at a trot.

"Sir?" she called after him. "What shall I do about…?"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," he threw the answer over his shoulder and disappeared up the stairs.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Several of them made me want to sit down with you over a cup of tea and have a chat! I love hearing what you think. I don't own TSOM or anything about it, of course.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

That night, she dreamed that she stood near the edge of a small, tidy town square, safely hidden in the evening shadows, watching a crowd of dancers frolic while a trio of musicians spun out a sweet tune. Her eyes were drawn time and again to one couple: a tall, slender man with a confident air, and a woman with gentle manner and a fat blond braid trailing down her back. They moved comfortably through the figures of a country dance, smiling and laughing together.

She came awake with a start, and with a new bit of information: Mama and Papa. I remember Mama and Papa, she thought, but the memory brought her only a sense of peaceful resignation, and she knew instinctively that her parents were no longer living. She tried to fall back asleep, anxious to see if more memories would be revealed to her, but it was almost dawn, and she quickly saw that more sleep was impossible.

And so the pattern began, to be repeated night after night: dreams that offered a tantalizing glimpse of a place, or a person, but never enough to tell her who she was or how she had come to be here. Then, without fail, an abrupt early morning awakening put a frustrating end to the remembering.

But if the nights were difficult, the days were sheer pleasure.

She followed the doctor's directions for the first few days, sitting quietly on the terrace and enjoying the sun, the air, and the view of the lake and the mountains beyond. The children hovered about her: Liesl styled her hair, Brigitta read to her, Kurt brought her tadpoles from the lake, Friedrich taught her a new card game, and Louisa provided an endless supply of treats from the kitchen. In turn, she read stories to the little girls and asked them to tell her all about themselves.

She'd expected it to be a bit awkward, getting to know them when she knew so little about herself, but she soon realized that the younger ones, especially, were naturally self-centered and lived in the moment; her predicament was not interesting to them. As for the older ones, perhaps they had been affected by losing their mother so young, but they seemed to open their hearts to her without reservation. Indeed, all seven of the children were starved for affection, and their devotion healed her and anchored her in her darkest moments. She thought back on her brief encounters with their ill-tempered father, puzzled that he could fail to appreciate them, especially since they were all he had left of their mother.

The days turned into one week and then two. Every night, she thanked God for the Captain's hospitality and asked Him to keep her family, wherever they were, safe. And then she climbed into bed with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, knowing that bits and pieces of the past would come back to her while she slept.

The memories flickered through her dreams: a short, round man with a kind face, smelling of peppermints. A crowd of young people around a campfire, surrounded by mountains that soared straight into the sky. A tall, bespectacled boy. The weight of a crucifix on her chest and a dark chapel filled with the sounds of voices lifted in prayerful chant. Children seated in a classroom, their heads bent over their work. Green meadows, animals in a barn, bright copper kettles whistling merrily, geese flying in the moonlight, mouthwatering tortes and strudels. And throughout every dream, like a golden thread, was woven music, voices chanting, guitars strumming, violins singing, the cry of a trumpet, the beat of a drum.

The music always stopped abruptly the moment she awakened, however. It was a trial, waking every morning before dawn, unable to get back to sleep, left to try and make a past for herself out of the fragments she'd been given.

The days' joys made the nights bearable, though. Had she grown up in a large loving family like this, or was she relishing it because she'd never had the experience? She loved splashing in the lake, reading bedtime stories, hearing Liesl's woes about the telegram boy, conducting hotly contested spelling bees, romping throughout the villa on rainy days, racing the boys through the garden. Her soul was fed by the summertime vista of lake, sky and mountains, and her body was fed by Cook's enormous and generous meals, always topped off by an extravagant dessert. She might have forgotten her name, or where she was from, but she knew one thing about herself: she had a ferocious sweet tooth.

The children weren't perfect, of course. They bickered constantly, over who had won a swimming race, who got the biggest piece of strudel, whose turn it was at cards. They even argued over her name, even though she'd asked them to simply call her "Fraulein." Each of the seven had a different name for her, all names beginning with "M."

One afternoon, she broke up an argument between Brigitta and Marta. "Why are you torturing your sister so, Brigitta? Where is your book?"

"I've read everything in the nursery at least five times," the girl complained.

"Your father must have a thousand books in that library of his, for heaven's sake. Can't you find something there?"

"Father doesn't let us use his library."

"Well," she said slowly, remembering Doctor Weiss' advice to her. Surely that counted as an invitation. "What if I were to find something for you in there?" And so Brigitta was able to lose herself in the new riches from her father's library.

"Father doesn't …." It was almost a daily refrain. "Father doesn't want us to play. Father doesn't let us get our clothes dirty. Father doesn't let us stay up late. Father doesn't want us in the kitchen."

And worst of all, "Father doesn't want us to talk about our mother."

She'd learned about this last one when she'd come upon them one night after dinner, whispering and giggling until they caught sight of her and fell silent. After three weeks together, she was a little hurt that they would keep secrets from her, but she also felt comfortable challenging them.

"Go on. What were you all talking about just now?"

"We were talking about Mama," Friedrich said defiantly, "even though we're not supposed to."

"Why not?"

"Father told us after she - afterward. That the best thing to do would be to try and forget about her. But we couldn't stop ourselves. Liesl and I would meet in the bathroom after lights out and tell stories about her. We'd have to whisper, remember?" he asked his sister.

Liesl picked up the heart-rending story. "When Father began to spend so much time away from home, we got careless. Marta overheard us one night, and then we _had_ to talk to her. It's the only way she'll ever know anything about Mama, anything at all," the girl said with great feeling.

"Well. You're perfectly free to talk about your mother around me. Tell me, what was she like?"

It was as though a floodgate had opened, and in the days to come, the late Baroness Von Trapp became part of the conversation until she was as familiar as her children. Her presence seeped from the safety of the nursery down the stairs into the dining room, out on the terrace and on the lawns beyond.

As the days went by, she puzzled over the Captain's behavior after his wife died, and his aloof, dismissive attitude toward his children. What, she wondered, could win him back? She thought back on the brief conversation they'd had just before he left for Vienna. That, and Brigitta's love of reading, gave her an idea.

"Come on, everyone." she said the next morning. "We're going to have school today, and every day from now on. Two hours, every morning."

The news was met with a chorus of groans. "But it's summer!" "Our other governesses never made us do schoolwork in the summer!" And, from Louisa: "You're not even a teacher!"

"Actually, darling, I am a teacher," she replied, without thinking, and then all at once, she knew it was true. "I _am_ a teacher," she repeated, clinging to that new bit of information about herself like prayer.

After that, something inside her flickered and then roared back to life. Every night, she searched the Captain's library for books to use in their lessons, recognizing and greeting the volumes like old friends from her lost past; every morning, she enticed her charges into the nursery with something new and interesting to learn.

She continued to mull over the scraps of her history gleaned from her dreams, and clung to her new identity as a teacher. Then, one rainy afternoon, the veil that hid her past lifted once again.

It happened during an energetic game of hide-and-seek, when she flung herself into a dusty closet on the third floor and promptly stumbled – literally – over a discarded guitar case. Sneezing violently from all the dust, she felt her fingers begin to tingle and, before she knew what she was doing, she had opened the case and was lifting the strap over her head.

And just like that, she found she could play the guitar. She couldn't wait to show it to the children. "Does anyone play? Or sing?"

The children exchanged uneasy glances. "N-no," Liesl explained. "Father used to. Mama had a lovely voice, and they would sing after dinner sometimes, but …" the girl trailed off into silence.

"Well, then, I'll teach you."

"Father doesn't want us to sing," Kurt said patiently, as though explaining something to a small and not very bright child.

No music, she thought. Of course. Nothing that reminds him of her. But the music was making her fingertips itch, and the melody hummed in her ears, drowning out the Captain's wishes.

"Your father said nothing to me about music," she said firmly. "Now. Let's start at the very beginning."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo 

He'd suffered through Elsa's party, soaking himself in champagne, stumbling through waltzes by Strausses he didn't even know. By Tuesday, the knot of anger and guilt had dissolved, leaving regret behind.

Today, he knew very well, was Marta's birthday. Even in Vienna, he couldn't completely escape the memories of her difficult birth. The thought of the young Fraulein he'd left in charge of his children; lucky girl, to have no such memories to haunt her.

He'd considered sending Marta a gift, but he had no idea what to buy, and he knew, without even asking, that Elsa would be of no help. And why set expectations he might not be able to meet for the next birthday? Brigitta's was next month, he thought, surprised that it came so quickly to him. No, Cook's customary cake would be adequate for the occasion.

He did try to call home, and was secretly relieved when Frau Schmidt told him that the children were out on the lake with their Fraulein. "Will you call back later?" she asked.

"I'll try," Georg said, knowing he wouldn't. After he rang off, though, his thoughts returned to his children, out on the lake – could the younger ones even swim? He certainly hadn't taught them. And they were under the care of a young woman who didn't know her own name. A little shiver of worry ran up his spine, but he pushed it away and went in search of a brandy from Elsa's excellent selection.

After that, the sweltering summer days ran into each other, forming an exhausting routine of parties, theatre, shopping and music that made his head ache and his temper flare.

"Poor Georg," Elsa commented late one evening, while they lingered over a nightcap on a hidden terrace in her garden. "You look like you need a break from Vienna. We both do." The von Etten's reception had been exceptionally brutal – crowded and noisy, with too little air, too many bores and not enough food.

The nighttime breeze was so refreshing, the air fragrant with blossoms, and she had looked so lovely in lavender satin, that he felt his spirits starting to lift. "All right. What did you have in mind?" he asked amiably.

"I thought we might go to Paris for a few days. Just the two of us."

"Paris? Hold on, Elsa. You can't visit Salzburg because of your sister's confinement, but somehow you can get away to Paris?"

"Just for a few days, Georg. Her doctor says-"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not interested in Paris. In fact, I _despise_ Paris."

"Come now, darling, you're being ridiculous." she coaxed him. " _Everyone_ loves Paris. How can a man who loves music and art the way you do, hold Paris in such contempt? All the more reason to go, to remind yourself how just how magical it can be. When were you last there?"

"Nearly twenty years ago," he said shortly. "And that was enough for me. No, Elsa, if we're going anywhere, it is Salzburg. And that's all there is to it."

"Very well." The nighttime shadows had deepened, until he couldn't see her face anymore, but he could hear the frown in her voice. They sat silently, each lost in their own thoughts, until she spoke again, her low voice floating out into the dark, fragrant evening air.

"You know, Georg, it's curious. For someone who is so anxious for _me_ to visit Salzburg and meet his children, _you_ don't seem to spend much time there yourself. With them. It makes me wonder exactly why you come to Vienna so often. Pretending to be so madly active. Could it possibly be that you are running away from-"

He was on his feet instantly, interrupting before she could finish the thought. "I come to Vienna for _you_ , Elsa. Not your gay parties, or your glittering circle of friends, or your couture." Before she could reply, he pulled her roughly onto her feet and into his arms.

Sometime later, he was on his way back to his hotel in a taxi. A quarter-hour of kissing in the garden had left Elsa cheerful and uncharacteristically biddable, while Georg felt only relieved to have escaped dangerous territory. He didn't know quite what he had proved to Elsa, but whatever it was, he'd failed to convince himself.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Georg was almost relieved when Elsa rang his hotel early one morning to tell him that her sister had given birth to a fine young son, and that she was on her way to her family's estate, where she'd be tied up for at least a week or two.

With time on his hands, it suddenly occurred to him that he'd been in Vienna for six weeks. Six _weeks,_ far longer than he'd intended – or hoped. And during all that time, there had been not one call from home. Surely he'd have been alerted to any problems. Yet there almost certainly were problems, with that girl left in charge.

He tapped his foot nervously, waiting for his call to be answered.

"Frau Schmidt?" 

"Captain von Trapp! Are you still in Vienna?"

"Of course I'm in Vienna!" What did she think, that he'd simply take off and sail around the world, leaving his family behind? Not that he hadn't dreamed of doing so, from time to time.

"Is everything in order? How are the children getting along with their Fraulein?"

"Everything is fine!" the housekeeper answered brightly, without a moment of hesitation.

"What," he scrambled for a handhold in this surprising conversation, "what, exactly have they been doing?"

A long, somewhat troubling silence.

"Oh, they keep busy, sir. And out of trouble."

He didn't know what disturbed him more, that long silence or the cheerful answer that preceded it. Perhaps he ought to conduct a first-hand inspection. It was ridiculous, anyway, to be sitting in a hotel in Vienna, a city he had come to detest, with time on his hands, simply because he was avoiding his family. Perhaps it was time to face his fears.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was their best rehearsal yet, she thought. Their sound was so full, so gorgeous that they no longer needed the accompaniment of the guitar. She couldn't wait to see the Captain's face when he heard them!

 _The hills are alive with the sound of music_

Kurt's soprano soared above, high and pure on the descant. If he sounded this way here in the nursery, imagine how he'd sound in the foyer, or the ballroom, with their superb acoustics!

 _With songs they have sung for a thousand years_

 _The hills fill my heart with the sound of music_

 _My heart wants to sing every song it hears_

The music swirled around them, sweet and rich and full of-

 **BANG!**

The nursery doors flew open, and there, standing in the doorway glaring, was Captain von Trapp.

"Captain!" she exclaimed. "You're home!"

The children read him more quickly than she could. The glorious sound withered away as they scrambled into formation before she'd even decoded the expression on his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"I – I taught them something to sing for you. And your Baroness, in case she -"

He swung around to face the children. "To your rooms. Immediately!" he barked, and she watched him nearly vibrate with suppressed anger until they had scurried from the nursery. Then he turned on her.

"You brought _music_ back into the house?"

"Yes, I mean, I thought…" Her plan had backfired, miserably. She'd planned for them to surprise him, had even pictured the way he might thank her in his own stiff, formal way.

"I gave you sanctuary and this is how you thank me?"

"But Captain. Sir. Just what is so terrible about music?"

"That is of no importance. You defied my orders, and you encouraged my children to do the same."

Orders? He'd rushed from the house without leaving her even a word of instruction! "But sir, you never exactly said-"

His eyes blazed in his furious face and he was very nearly shouting at her.

"Did you or did you not defy my orders, Fraulein?"

She took a deep breath. "All right, have it your way, Captain. Yes. Yes I did! And do you know what _else_ I did? I taught Friedrich a full term of Latin in just four weeks. Gretl is _reading._ Louisa can recite a dozen poems from memory, Liesl wrote a short story in French, and don't get me started on Brigitta. And do you know why they did it? They did it for you. For _you._ Their father, they-"

"That is enough!"

"They did it because they want more than anything to make you proud. They want so much to be close to you. Just look at those silly uniforms they insist on wearing, just to impress you! You think they won't amount to anything, but the truth is, if you would only let them-"

"I said that is _enough!_ " he roared.

The girl stood before him, chin raised, blue eyes flashing with emotion. There was a confident air about her that she hadn't had when he'd left. All the more striking in contrast to the demure dress she wore, snow-white, ruffled, and several inches too short.

"Now," he said, drawing a deep breath. "You will…" he was brought up short by the realization that he couldn't very well dismiss her, the way he had the others. She had nowhere else to go.

"You will await further orders from me before I return to Vienna. For now, you are dismissed," he finished.

She turned to leave, but then turned back and began to _lecture_ him, stabbing at the air with a raised finger.

"How long, Captain? How long are you going to keep running away from them? Because I'll tell you this. They are _never_ going to stop pursuing you, no matter how hard or how far you run."

He couldn't believe his ears. "Are you calling me a coward? _Me_? Have you forgotten who, exactly, you are talking to? There is not a man or a woman in Austria who would agree with you."

"As you told me, Captain, that was a very, _very_ long time ago," she countered hotly. "Now if you'll excuse me," and she stalked from the room. As though he hadn't been the one to dismiss her!

He stood in the middle of the deserted nursery, rattled by the intensity of his anger, and fighting to regain his composure. When he left the room at last, he came across her at the bottom of the great stairway, looking lost in the vast space of the foyer, and staring intently at the floor. When she looked up at the sound of his footsteps, her eyes were suspiciously shiny, and he thought he saw her lower lip tremble.

"Fraulein. There is no need for tears," he said stiffly.

"I am _not_ crying," she said fiercely, knuckling away the evidence to the contrary. "I haven't cried once during this whole miserable experience, not once, since the night I arrived here, and," her voice broke as she choked out the last few spiteful words, "I'm not about to start now. Because, Captain, I am not the sort of girl who cries!"

She ran up the stairs then, and disappeared from sight.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

They avoided each other for the next day or two, in an unspoken, grudging truce. Until, shortly after breakfast one day, he found her in his library, rifling the shelves as though she owned them.

"Can I help you, Fraulein?" he said, intending to suggest that she was trespassing.

"No, thank you, Captain," she said politely, not seeming the least abashed at being discovered in his private space. "I've got exactly what I need right here."

"I doubt it. Those books are in English, if you haven't noticed."

"I _know_ that," she said, with an exasperated huff. "Brigitta asked me to find them. Her sisters are helping her learn English. I gather their mother was-"

In a few long strides, he was by her side. "Let me see that," he demanded, and as she handed over the brightly-colored volume she'd chosen, he added, "why did you decide to begin teaching them? And don't try to tell me it was their idea."

"No. I simply felt they ought not to dream their summer holidays away," she said. "So, I gave each of them the choice of one activity, and this was Brigitta's. Now, Captain, may I?" She reached for the book, but he held it away from her.

"You may not. These books are from my personal collection." He crossed his arms defiantly.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Of all the …" she began, but then pressed her lips together. She knew better than to shout at the man, who, after all, was the only thing standing between her and utter ruin. Instead, she turned on her heel and forced herself to walk at a dignified pace, rather than scurry, from the room.

It was beginning to become a matter of routine for him in his interactions with her: she seemed uniquely able to enrage him, but after ten minutes, he'd cooled down, and his curiosity overcame his bad temper. Georg returned to the shelf of English books, running a finger across their spines until he found what he was looking for. Tucking it under his arm, he left the study.

On his way to the nursery, however, he noticed something peculiar – the ballroom doors, left open a crack. The ballroom was not to be disturbed, he'd made that clear to Frau Schmidt. He peered through the opening, thinking to surprise the intruder, but he couldn't make sense of what he saw. Not without a better look. So he pulled himself up to his full, intimidating height, and threw the doors open.

 **BANG!**

"Captain von Trapp!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"A better question would be what are _you_ doing?" he muttered, perplexed. A large area of the ballroom floor was covered in tablecloths, quilts and bed linens, all in shades of blue, some laid out smoothly and others rumpled. Strewn across them were several dozen toy boats and ships of different sizes and shapes. He thought he recognized a model he'd built with Friedrich long ago, but he had more trouble identifying the butter dish and the gravy boat. A clump of toy soldiers perched on a low stool nearby.

"Trafalgar," she said, as though it should have been obvious.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's the battle of Trafalgar. We've been reenacting famous battles for our study of history. Great _naval_ battles," she said pointedly. "Over there are the French, the Spanish are here, and the British of course…and that stool is Spain. We don't have enough boats, but Frau Schmidt was kind enough to send reinforcements from the china closet. Over there-" she pointed to an area where a tablecloth had been rumpled into irregular folds – "those are rough seas."

She thought she saw his lips twitch, but to her relief, he didn't yell, or scold, or even laugh. Instead, he simply studied the tableau for a long minute or two, tugging at his ear, before pointing to an area just next to her feet and announcing, "You've got this part wrong."

"Sir?"

One at a time, he toed a row of boats, and an old teacup, a meter to the right. "The British came from this direction. If they'd carried out _your_ plan, Brigitta would have found herself learning French this summer, rather than English."

She broke into a smile that, he was quite certain, could have won over any adversary at sea or on land. "I hope you don't mind our using this space, Captain, but there's nothing this big anywhere else in the house, and with the weather having been so rainy, well…"

"I must say, I really am very much impressed," he said solemnly. "Do you mean to tell me they did this all by themselves?"

"Oh, yes, Captain, Friedrich and Kurt did all the work! I was only here to advise. They picked military history for their summer project. As you can see," she smiled. "Liesl chose to write stories, Louisa to learn poetry, and Brigitta you already know about."

"And the little ones?"

"Oh," she laughed easily. "They just want to be loved. I think they'd study chemistry, or engineering, or something like that, if I asked them to. But we are working on reading, mostly. They are all such a credit to you, sir."

A wave of unrecognizable emotion – pride, regret, and something else he couldn't quite name – washed over him.

"Look, Fraulein. I – I owe you an apology. I behaved badly the other day, about the singing. I left you in command, and I should not have questioned your judgement. The music is a particularly difficult area, you see. I'd forgotten…"

"Oh," she interrupted, waving his words away, "there is nothing to apologize for, Captain." But he could tell from the rising color in her face that she was pleased. He was struck, again, by how much more confident, even bold, she'd become in the weeks he'd been away. She'd put on some badly-needed weight, too; where she'd been all bony angles, a few curves had emerged that put to rest any idea that she was anything less than a full grown woman.

"Yes. Well." He shook himself back to the business at hand. "I brought you something. An English book of fairy tales for Brigitta."

She eyed the volume curiously. "But I thought you didn't want her to have anything from your collection."

"The book _you_ chose is not – ehrm – it is not suitable for Brigitta. A romantic novel. My wife was very fond of that sort of thing," he finished in a rush, and she had the distinct impression that he was embarrassed by the confession.

"Oh, goodness. How fortunate you were here to advise me, then," was all she said, but her cheeks grew even pinker. She rifled through the pages of the book of fairy tales. "This looks perfect, Captain. What lovely illustrations!"

"Well, then." he said. They stood there a moment longer, but there really wasn't any other business he could think of to conduct with her. He hadn't had a conversation this long about his children in years. If ever. "I hope she enjoys it," and he turned to go.

"Captain," she stopped him on his way out the door. "Do you think – that is – would you be willing to let the boys show you this project themselves? Or give them some ideas for the next one? It would mean so much to them," she added shyly.

He thought, instantly, that they ought to go much farther back in time, the Battle of Salamis, for example. The Persians and Greeks, the course of history changed.

But no. "I'm sorry," he said, though he felt it again, a twinge of real regret. "I'm planning to return to Vienna tomorrow."

"So soon? I know Liesl was hoping…"

"What is it, Fraulein?"

"She is restless, cooped up here at home. They all are, especially the older ones. I mean, it's a lovely home, the grounds and so on. But they long to go up to the mountains for a picnic. I gather it's something you used to – well, anyway. In my circumstances, I don't really feel confident leaving the grounds, and she was hoping that while you were home, you might take them up there."

He thought of Vienna, hot, crowded, glittering, boring. Elsa would be tied up with her sister for another week anyway.

"I suppose I could put my return off by a day or two," he said slowly, his brow furrowing. "There is one request I would make of you in return, though."

She clapped her hands in glee. "Oh, yes, Captain! Anything!"

"No more music until I've returned to Vienna. I don't mind it for the children, but…"

He stopped abruptly and, without another word, turned, and left the ballroom.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Love, love, love your reviews! Don't own, all for love, etc.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

She hadn't expected to miss it as much as she did, the guitar. She had so little of herself – a few scattered memories, her work as a teacher – that putting her guitar aside was like tearing off a limb. But today, up on the mountain, lounging on the soft grass of a green meadow, surrounded by magnificent snowy peaks nearly touching an impossibly blue sky – today, her spirits soared nonetheless.

All around her, the children chattered and romped, throwing balls, turning cartwheels, running races, jumping rope. Their father sat nearby, on the other side of the picnic blanket. Dressed in a jacket and tie, he sat straight upright, and he wore a watchful air, as though he expected bad news at any moment. He wasn't joining in the games, or even conversing with his children, but still, he'd been patient and almost cheerful, as he'd led them on their journey up the mountain.

It _was_ beautiful here, so lovely and peaceful. Even better, for the first time since she'd woken up in the villa weeks earlier, she recognized this place, _knew_ she'd been before. The shock of recognition was thrilling, but it also put her on edge. Perhaps this was the breakthrough she'd been waiting for.

"Tell me, Fraulein," the Captain's voice broke into her thoughts. "How are things with your memory coming along? If you don't mind my asking."

"There's been some progress, but it's slow. I know I was a teacher, of course. I get little bits of information when I'm sleeping. For example, I'm quite certain that my parents are no longer living. And there's someone named Kurt, I don't know who. And a Klaus. Or maybe they are the same person, and I just can't get the name right. Although there is an older man, short and round, and a boy with spectacles in there somewhere. As you see, I can't make sense of it all. I went to see Doctor Weiss the other day, and he told me to be patient. Not something I do very well," she laughed. She thought about telling him how familiar this meadow seemed to her, but the sensation felt new and a little tender, as though it weren't quite ready to be shared with anyone.

"Any luck with your name?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head. "I tried to get the children to call me simply 'Fraulein,' which is good enough for the boys, but the girls each call me something different. Louisa calls me Fraulein Marlene, after a movie star she likes. Brigitta calls me Fraulein Magda, after some mythical Norse goddess. Marta, of course, calls me Fraulein Marta. Liesl is partial to Fraulein Mirjam, for a princess in a story she loved as a child."

"And Gretl?" he pressed, but she didn't answer. He glanced her way, but she was carefully studying her lap.

"Ah. I see. She calls you Mother, does she? Well, it starts with M, anyway."

"Oh Captain," she burst out, "please don't be angry. She hardly knew your – her mother, and every little girl wants someone to call mother. I've explained it to her, why she shouldn't, and she does try, but sometimes, when she's very frightened, or upset, she just…"

He sighed. "I understand, Fraulein. Don't trouble yourself about it." He had come to appreciate this young woman's rough charm, and found it hard to stay angry at her for very long. She was a refreshing change from anyone else he knew: unsophisticated, utterly transparent and completely approachable, with her freckled face, and a wide smile that could light up a room. And he had to admire her bravery under what seemed like extremely difficult circumstances.

Seeking to lighten the mood, he asked, "What about Maria?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Maria. It starts with M, and it's a common enough name. Statistically, it's the most likely suspect."

"No," she shook her head emphatically. "That name is _definitely_ not for me. It's too…too obedient, too virtuous. Too docile. I am _not_ a Maria."

"How would you know?" he threw his head back and surprised both of them with his hearty laugh. She hadn't ever seen him laugh before, and for a moment, she could almost imagine the charming young man Frau Schmidt had told her about.

She had joined him in laughter but then, without warning, she sprang to her feet. "What's that?" Her face had suddenly gone pale, pale and she was visibly trembling.

"What?"

"That _sound_."

He had to strain to hear it over the noise his children were making. "That? It's just bells. Church bells. You can hear them all the time up here, from all over Salzburg."

That sound had reached deep inside her and wrapped itself around her heart. "There's something…" she choked, but she couldn't get another word out.

The Captain peered at her, concerned. "Come," he said, as he stood and extended a hand to pull her to her feet. She felt his big hand on her back, gently guiding her to the edge of the meadow, until they could see Salzburg spread out below them.

"They're the bells of Nonn-," he started to explain, but before he got any farther, she broke in.

"That place. What is that place? The one with the-"

"The red dome? That's what I was telling you. It's Nonnberg Abbey."

"I know that place," she whispered. "I _know_ that place."

He shook his head. "Not likely, Fraulein. It's run by the Benedictines. The strictest order in Europe. The sisters are cloistered, locked behind gates. It doesn't seem possible that you'd have had any connection to it. Although if you like, we can make inquiries."

She was dizzy, and her stomach was tied in knots, though she wasn't entirely sure why: was it her past, tapping her on the shoulder? Or was it shock of his warm hand at her back, a gesture completely out of character for a man who unsettled her at best and terrified her at worst?

Tearing her eyes away from the red dome, she shook her head regretfully. "Of course. It's a ridiculous thought, me as a nun. It's just that sometimes, I _so_ long for the truth, to know who I am, that I'd be willing to believe just about anything."

Something in his face shuttered closed, and she knew she'd gone too far, seeking comfort from him. Her troubles, she reminded herself, were hers alone. He had been generous enough to give her a home, and she would have to do the rest herself.

"Just give me a moment to collect myself," she said shakily, "and we'll break open the picnic baskets."

A half-hour later, she had regained her composure and usual good humor. The family fell to eating the enormous lunch Cook had prepared for them.

"This dessert," she mumbled, mouth full of fruit and cake. "What is this called?"

"Zwetschkenkuchen. Or plum cake, if you like," Liesl told her.

"I like it very much," she said, swallowing the last delicious bite and looking longingly at the Captain's plate. He cake sat almost untouched; he didn't have much of a sweet tooth and rarely ate dessert. "In fact, this may be my favorite dessert yet."

"Fraulein, you say that about _every_ dessert," Brigitta laughed.

"I like Cook's apple strudel best," said Kurt, and then everyone began talking about their favorite sweets. Everyone, that is, except the Captain, who wore a remote, distracted look on his face that made her suspect he'd been thinking of his wife.

"The best thing ever," Liesl said dreamily, "are French macarons. Remember, Louisa?"

"Oh, yes! The French governess – what was her name? – she brought them back for us from Paris. They are delicate almond cookies, as light as air, in beautiful pastel colors," the girl explained.

Georg had lost the thread of the conversation, having been distracted by the sight of his governess licking the last bits of plum cake from her fingers, and swooning extravagantly at the very thought of French macarons. It was Gretl who got his attention, with a casual remark far deadlier than any torpedo fired from a submarine could ever have been.

"Mama _loved_ plums," the little girl observed.

A moment later, it was Marta's turn to fire. "Father," she begged, "will you tell us the story about Mama and the plum tree?"

In the silence that followed, one could almost hear the grass grow at the far end of the meadow. The children had become so accustomed to discussing their mother during his long stay in Vienna that they'd forgotten their father's rule. Horrified, she looked at the Captain, as still as a statue, his fork suspended in mid-air. He turned to glare at her, but she shrugged helplessly. He could hardly blame her for spreading stories about a woman she'd never met. His gaze swung to Liesl next, who smiled impishly and said, "Well, Father, if you don't want us to talk about Mama, what _do_ you want us to talk about?"

Insurrection, Georg thought. For four years, his prohibition had gone unchallenged, but now, like so many other things, it had seemingly expired.

He looked back to the little governess, who sat across from him, busying herself folding napkins and stacking cups. Brigitta had woven a wreath of edelweiss that sat crookedly on her head. He cleared his throat noisily, and she looked up long enough to fix him with her clear, direct gaze. He could almost hear her say it. "Coward."

She left him no choice. He cleared his throat again.

"It was when I was courting your mother. There was an extensive garden on her parents' property, with a plum tree that must have been nine or ten meters tall. Knowing that she was, as you say, Gretl, fond of plums, I set out to pick some for her. I'd heard the sweetest ones grew near the top, so I –." He paused. "I fell out of the tree and broke my arm. It was very painful," he finished tightly.

They didn't need to hear the rest of it – how Agathe had felt so guilty, she'd let him steal a kiss that night, their first. _Her_ first ever, he thought, remembering how he'd felt tender and smug all at once. He'd have gladly endured breaking every bone in his body for the sake of that kiss.

That night, preparing for bed, Georg caught sight of himself in the mirror. Perhaps it was the effect of a day up in the mountains, but he looked like he felt – oddly relaxed, untroubled, even a little giddy. Cautiously, he tried on another memory for size, telling the empty room about the time, just days before the wedding, when they'd snuck off to the barn and… Agathe used to say that she was still picking straw out of her hair on their honeymoon.

The next morning, he woke early, having slept more soundly than he had in years. He was full of energy and the thought of sitting down to a morning of paperwork was unbearable. A quick glance out the window inspired him and he swung into action.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

As usual, she was awake before dawn, reluctantly surfacing from the depths of sleep. Her fingers moved restlessly across the covers as though trying to capture the music before it faded away, always the same, simple melody, a tune that stayed with her all day, every day. Slipping from bed, she went to look out at the lake, barely visible as the sky was just beginning to brighten. Her fingers wiggled of their own accord, forming the chords in the air, finding the notes to that haunting melody. How she longed for her guitar, tucked safely away in the nursery! But she pushed the feeling away, remembering her promise to the Captain.

Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. The rest of the household wouldn't be up for hours. Perhaps, just for a minute, she might…did she dare? Without letting herself think about it, she peered cautiously out the open door of her bedroom and then crept quietly across the house to the nursery. A few minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief, she'd taken the guitar in her arms, perched on a low bench, and, hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence, picked out the melody. After the first time through, she added the words.

"Edelweiss, edel…"

"Lovely. That's just lovely." his voice came from the door. This time, he hadn't announced his presence with a bang of the doors that heralded a dressing down. Instead, he was leaning casually against the door frame. How long had he been standing there?

"Captain!" she gasped, her heart in her throat. "I'm sorry! I know you asked me not to – and I promised – but I just couldn't help it, you see, I…" Her fingers fidgeted with the thin cotton of her nightgown, and she swallowed back her nerves. "The music. It must have been very important to me, _before_. Because it never stops playing in my mind, you see. It's with me all the time."

"Fraulein. Be still. There is no need for you to be so apprehensive!"

She raised her chin defiantly. "Maybe you have forgotten, Captain, but I am completely at your mercy. I have a place to live, and food to eat, only owing to your kindness. The last thing I want is to defy you because, the truth is, I have nowhere else to go." She put the guitar aside and rose.

Georg admired the way she responded with dignity and tenacity, just like she had that day when he'd come upon the children singing in the nursery. Although the sound of their music _had_ initially come as a shock, the memory had stayed with him. Ever since that day, their refrain echoed in his mind until he grew quite accustomed to it, even comforted by it. Until he longed to hear them sing again, in fact. Now, watching the little governess abandon her guitar, he was suddenly desperate to hear the rest of her melody as well.

"There is nothing for you to be afraid of, Fraulein. Go on, go on," he waved his hand at her.

Momentarily reassured, she seated herself again and settled the guitar on her lap. For the first time, she noticed that this was a Captain she hadn't seen before, dressed in an open-necked shirt, soft trousers and high boots.

"What are you doing up this early?" she blurted. "You look…"

He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth lifted just the tiniest bit.

"I look?"

" _Useful_." She felt her face turn hot; where had that remark come from?

Just like he had that day on the mountain, he threw back his head and laughed. "Useful? I'm not sure my horse will agree. I was on my way to the stables. I haven't ridden in years, but somehow, this morning, a good hard ride seemed like just the thing. I was on my way to saddle Jupiter, when I heard you."

"I _am_ sorry about the music, sir."

"That melody you were playing? I know it," was all he said. "The next part is my favorite."

Feeling shy, she ducked her head and tried to continue, but her fingers suddenly were clumsy and disobedient.

"No, no," he said, crossing the room to where she sat, "that's all wrong. It's like this," and the next thing she knew, he was seated by her side, rearranging her fingers on the frets.

"Now try it."

But it was hopeless, not with the Captain sitting so close she could feel the heat of his body through her thin nightgown. And it was impossible to concentrate with his arm curved around her shoulders. Her heart wobbled and something shifted and stirred inside.

"Hold on," he said, his voice oddly strained. "This isn't – ehrm – working out. Perhaps it would be better if I tried it myself."

"Y-yes," she said, stumbling to her feet and handing him the guitar.

For a moment or two, he held the instrument loosely in his arms and looked past her, into the distance. His gaze grew remote and his face went blank.

He must be thinking of his wife again. She closed her eyes, flinching in anticipation, expecting this new, amiable Captain to evaporate, leaving in his place the stern, distant man she knew so well. But then the music floated out into the room and a rich, warm voice washed over her:

 _Edelweiss, edelweiss._

 _Every morning you greet me._

 _Strong and white, clean and bright,_

 _You look happy to meet me._

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her.

 _Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow_

 _Bloom and grow forever._

 _Edelweiss, edelweiss_

 _Bless my homeland forever._

She clapped delightedly as he gave an embarrassed little shrug. "Encore, Captain! Encore!"

Laughing, he picked up the refrain.

" _Edelweiss…"_

Their heads both swung in surprise at the sweet echo coming from the doorway:

" _Edelweiss."_

Liesl stood just inside the door, surrounded by her brothers and sisters, who gaped, round-eyed, as their sister sang the reply. And then the voices of father and daughter met in harmony:

" _Every morning you greet me."_

Too soon, the song was over. The notes faded away, and the magic along with it, so that only a long, fraught silence remained. He was staring hungrily at his children, as though he hadn't seen them for years, as though he'd been on a long journey without them and had only now returned home.

Suddenly, impulsively, he reached for them, and then they were on him, the little girls crawling into his lap, Brigitta hanging on his shoulders, Liesl and Friedrich perched at his feet. He reached out to ruffle Kurt's hair. Only Louisa hung back, a little uncertain, until an encouraging nod from her governess propelled her into the fray.

This was him! the man Frau Schmidt had told her about. The man he used to be. Although it was a happy scene, her eyes stung with unshed tears, recalling the moment before he began to sing, when he had drawn into himself, lost in memories of his wife.

"Our mother used to sing that song," Liesl explained, as if to confirm just what she'd been thinking.

"Yes, well," she said briskly. "And I liked hearing it. Now, everyone. It's time to get dressed and get ready for breakfast. And lessons." Without waiting to see if they followed, she fled back to the safety of her room.

Once there, her eyes sought her reflection in the mirror, and she let her fingers dance across her face, the pointed chin, the long nose, the freckles. The girls were always telling her she was pretty, but to her critical eyes, her mouth was too wide, and her hair stuck out like a wild boy's.

She thought back to her first morning at the villa, when Doctor Weiss had teased her about a beau. At the time, she'd been too overwhelmed by her dire circumstances to even consider the possibility. As the days had gone by, she'd continued to wonder about, and pray for, her family, but she was all but certain that there had been no sweetheart, no beau. Because surely she'd remember feeling this way.

Dizzy. Thrilled.

Terrified.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Georg rode hard for a good half-hour, but there was no outrunning his thoughts. It wasn't only the sound of music, or the embrace of his children, or the memories of Agathe. It was also the girl's body brushing against his, and the shimmer in her eyes, and her fighting spirit.

He stopped to let Jupiter rest and let his mind linger on the image of his children's governess, darting from the nursery before he'd had a chance to thank her. For what? he asked himself wryly. For defying his orders? He hadn't held a guitar in four years now, but it had come back to him easily, and there was no denying the pleasure it brought him. Where he'd anticipated torment, the sound of music had brought him peace instead.

And, he reassured himself, the girl probably hadn't noticed his momentary loss of composure, after he'd felt the soft, round shape of a breast sway gently against his hand, with very little in between him and her bare skin. He hoped she hadn't noticed; probably not. He didn't know how old she was, or anything about her past, but she was clearly a grown woman. Yet she seemed strangely, almost oddly, innocent.

Digging his heels into the horse's sides, he turned for home.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **So glad you're enjoying my story. BTW, I've amended the summary to clarify that I'm using Maria's memoir as another source. Not for this chapter, but for what lies ahead. I know it's a busy time of year, but reviews are very motivating! I don't own TSOM or anything about it.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The days slipped by. There was no word from Elsa, and he felt no particular urgency to return to Vienna in her absence. Beyond the usual press of business affairs, there was also a steady stream of requests that kept him involved with the children. Georg found himself assisting with everything from capturing frogs for a terrarium, to French translation, to making campfires by the lake at night, to solving equations, to telling stories from his time at sea.

The sound of music, which he had strictly forbidden for so long, now seemed to be everywhere, filling the warm, breezy days and long purple evenings. He felt himself thawing out, the way one might after coming indoors from the cold – there was comfort and pleasure in the returning warmth, but also the occasional twinge when a painful memory caught him by surprise.

Curiously, while he felt more at ease with his children than he had since Agathe's death, their governess had grown cool toward him. In his presence, she was by turns awkward, detached, polite and remote. He thought back to her confession – how she felt vulnerable because she had nowhere else to go. Surely, after what she'd done for his family, she deserved better than to live in fear so.

So Georg sent her a note, asking her to join him in the library one evening after the children were in bed. Although at that hour, he usually enjoyed a brandy or two, he even ordered a pot of tea and some cakes, hoping to put her and her sweet tooth at ease.

For the first few minutes, she perched on the edge of the big leather couch, fidgeting with her handkerchief and waiting anxiously for some declaration: surely he'd called her in with a complaint, or to point out some previously unknown rule, or impose a new, onerous requirement.

She worried constantly about her position at the villa, so much so that the Captain had been appearing in her dreams at night, sometimes grim and unsmiling, other times relaxed and cheerful, but always bearing the news that he'd found a real governess and it was time for her to go. Or that the details of his marriage to Baroness Schrader had finally been worked out, and the children would have a new mother instead. And meanwhile, she still didn't know where she was from, or even her name, and the few memories she'd been able to patch together were an unhelpful collage of happy, sad and worse.

But after a few minutes of small talk about the children, and with the help of a cup of tea and a slice of cake, she began to relax. The Captain slumped into a comfortable armchair nearby, sipping his tea. While he wasn't ever going to be the jolly, amiable sort, they had a shared history now, and he wasn't quite as formidable as he'd seemed during her first days at the villa.

"Was there something you wanted, Captain?"

"Well," he started, starting into his teacup. "I asked you to join me tonight because – well," he forged on with determination, "I was thinking, and I was wondering. Have I done something to offend you?"

"Me? You want to know if you have _offended_ me?"

Her tone suggested that if he hadn't offended her, he might have done something else, though he couldn't imagine what it was.

"Yes," he hurried on, "and anyway, I haven't had much opportunity lately to thank you. The children seem to be thriving. They've even put away those ridiculous uniforms and started wearing proper play clothes for a change. They answer to their names now, and not that silly whistle. And the credit goes to you."

Now that he was past the awkward part, Georg stole a glance at her. She looked unaccountably flustered.

But all she said was, "They're your children, Captain. And they're quite well behaved."

"Don't even bother trying to convince me of that," he chuckled. "Are you telling me I don't know my children? I _do_ know mischief when I see it. I was a terror myself, as a boy."

"You?" she said disbelievingly. "But you are always so – ehrm - _correct."_

"I was completely undisciplined. A holy terror. I had more tutors than my children have had governesses, and there was only me and my sister! That's why I was sent to the naval academy, in fact, when I was barely Friedrich's age. It was the best thing that could have happened to me."

The anecdote had put her at ease, he saw.

"It's funny," she said confidingly. "Even though I can remember almost nothing of my childhood, I'm quite certain I was the rebellious type too. Climbing trees, tearing my clothes, sliding down banisters…"

"Of course you remember those things. I've seen you do some of them myself!" There was something utterly charming about the way she flushed and squirmed at the admiring compliment. Hastily, he added, "so you are making progress with your memory?"

"Slowly, Captain, slowly. As I told you, I can remember specific things but I don't know how they fit together. Like that red dome, for example. Why would I have so many memories about a _convent_? And," she sighed, "I still don't know how I came to be here."

"Well, I admire you," he said soberly. "You've been awfully brave about it all."

"Brave? Me? As I recall, _you_ are supposed to be the brave one."

"Not in the same way." He paused, considering. "When you're a soldier," he said slowly, as though thinking out loud, "The memories are a burden. You survive by _forgetting_. You must push the horror and fear away, because if you remembered it all, you'd never be able to carry on. Yet you, Fraulein – you are fighting to find the memories you've lost. Aren't you afraid of what you'll learn?"

"It couldn't be any worse than not knowing," she said, quietly at first, and then her voice strengthened. "I would gladly shoulder any burden, just to know my name. Mirjam, Marta, Magda, Marlene – such lovely names, all of them, but they aren't me. I want to know _my_ name."

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Fraulein. You'd give a great deal to have your memories back, and here I am-" he faltered, uncomfortably.

The words flew from her mouth before she could weigh the impulse. " _You_ only want to forget, is that it?"

She sprang to her feet and began pacing the room, rumpling her fingers through her red-gold hair.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but if _I_ could remember everything? Honestly, I've already got a pretty good idea that there would be some heartache. But I _know_ there would be joy, too. You lost your career at sea, but at least you can remember the sea. I don't even know if I've ever -and – you have parents, don't you?"

"My parents are dead," Georg said curtly, watching her circle the room. He had invited her intending to offer comfort, and she was attacking him?

"But you _remember_ them, don't you? That they loved you, how proud they were of you, the nicknames they had for you, the way they cared for you when you were sick, or scared, or…"

She stopped her pacing just long enough to take a deep breath, and he took advantage of the moment to interrupt.

"Of course, Fraulein. There are good memories as well, but they are far in the past." He felt oddly embarrassed, as though his grief was some kind of shameful weakness.

Tea had proved inadequate for the situation after all. He hauled himself out of the armchair and went to pour himself a brandy. A great surge of anger welled up within, one that pushed the words out of his mouth before he could remind himself that he _never_ voiced thoughts like this, and certainly not to a pink cheeked slip of a girl.

"You are much too young to have experienced a very great loss, the kind that can never be made right," he said sharply.

His fist clenched around a brandy, he crossed the room to where she stood, conscious that he was trying to intimidate her, to regain the upper hand. A part of him couldn't help admiring the way she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin at him. This girl was _relentless!_

"It's so unfair, Captain. Here you are, running away from your memories…"

He could almost see her usual vital energy drain from her.

"While I am coming to terms with the possibility that I may never remember everything. My _name_ , for God's sake. I'm going to have to choose a name for myself if this keeps up! People are _made_ of their memories. Surely you of all people understand that, Captain! Because your wife - at least you know you loved someone and that you were loved in return. Would you really rather have forgotten her?"

Of all the audacious, impertinent – the furious retort died on his lips at the sight of her forlorn figure, shoulders bowed, her blue eyes full of sorrow, on his behalf as well as hers. The ache in her voice made him want to - instead, he drained his glass.

"No," he said, "of course not, it's just-"

"There is nothing left of me, not even a name! _Nothing._ What will become of me? How can someone who is nothing become anything?" She was rambling now. "Something. Anything. Nothing from something. _Nothing_ comes from nothing." She turned her face away, but not before he saw the tears shimmer in her eyes.

Although he'd long ago accepted his own grief, frustration and despair as a permanent state of affairs, he somehow couldn't tolerate such a future for this young woman. Not after everything she had done for him and his children.

"Come, now," Georg said encouragingly, "the children adore you! And you had parents. Everyone does, after all. Surely they loved you. And a beautiful young woman like you, undoubtedly there is someone, a young man, you know, who…"

She turned toward him again, and for just a moment, something flashed across her face, a certain glow in her deep blue eyes – that completely captivated him, leaving him unable to look away.

"No, no. Not me," she said weakly, "I mean, I don't think I ever…"

He couldn't stop himself: he lifted his hand and brushed a finger across her cheek, soft as silk, watching it stain pink, feeling her turn toward his touch.

"How would you know?" he whispered, swallowing back the feelings – tenderness and relief and, yes, desire, that welled up within.

But she only flinched, looking apprehensively at the empty glass in his hand.

"I'm sorry," he fumbled. "I shouldn't have-"

"It was the brandy talking," she said feebly.

"I don't drink that much. Much less than I used to, in fact. El – someone told me to cut back, and I did. You are probably one of the lucky ones who sleeps like a baby, but there are those of us, Fraulein, who occasionally need a little help quieting the storm inside."

"It's my fault, Captain," she said hastily. "I shouldn't have spoken so freely to you. You know I'm very grateful to you for everything."

So even after what had passed between them, she was still afraid of him. Georg hid the vague feeling of disappointment behind a platitude, one he knew to be false: "It doesn't matter who you _were_ , Fraulein. Only who you _are_."

When her eyes met his with a wordless retort, he looked away.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Elsa's telegram arrived the next day:

MOTHER BABY THRIVING. RETURNING VIENNA TOMORROW. EAGER FOR REUNION.

And he had replied, carefully omitting the question mark at the end:

SEPTEMBER SALZBURG VISIT

It was a relief in some ways, knowing that this interlude, however pleasant, was at an end. Things with his children were back on track, which would make matters with Elsa much simpler. He'd had too much time on his hands lately, and had let himself get far more wrapped up than was prudent in the troubles facing his anonymous little governess. Last night's conversation, for example.

He couldn't afford to let this kind of distraction push him off course! A quick call to Leo Weiss confirmed what she'd told him: the memories were returning, but slowly. Georg was not a patient man, and in his mind, he began to consider alternative ways to resolve the situation.

Two long, rainy days passed with no further word from Elsa. It was the rainiest summer Salzburg had seen in years, and his admiration for his governess only grew as he watched her keep his children productively occupied. They'd been closeted in the ballroom all afternoon, and he'd heard nothing more than the low, constant refrain of music and the occasional burst of laughter and applause.

A knock at the library door, and Franz appeared. "Telegram for you, Captain."

NEEDED FOR MAX OPENING SEPTEMBER. PERHAPS OCTOBER.

 _October?_ Fuming, he tossed the telegram aside. He could go back to Vienna, of course, to try and hurry Elsa along. It would simply be a return to the existence that had suited him well enough just a few months ago. But the very thought of Vienna – the noise, the lights, the infernal gossip, the oppressive city environment – irritated him. He looked longingly out the window toward the stables, but the weather was too foul even for Jupiter to manage.

Restless, he wandered out of the library and into the foyer, and the music grew louder. Tchaikovsky? Curious, he quietly pushed open the ballroom doors.

Most of the children sat cross legged in the floor, watching intently as Brigitta and Louisa leapt and pirouetted. Their Fraulein stood to one side, overseeing a record player. After a minute, the music ended and the girls curtsied to loud applause.

"Bravo," Georg called from the doorway, and they turned to welcome him, the children's bright faces welcoming him enthusiastically, their governess' demeanor more cautious, more guarded.

"I hope the noise didn't disturb you, Captain," she said, bustling around the record player. "We're having a recital, you see. Marta has already performed, and now…"

That she could still be intimidated after what had passed between them the other night simply baffled him. "No, no. Don't mind me," he reassured her. "What's next?"

The strains of a simple melody filled the air.

"I wanted to waltz," Liesl complained, "but Friedrich refuses to cooperate."

"That's not a waltz," he corrected Liesl, "it's the Laendler. An Austrian folk dance."

Just then, the little governess made a _sound,_ a quiet little moan that could barely be heard over the music. When he looked over at her, she was standing frozen in place, her hands held up against cheeks that had gone pale white.

"I-I know this one," she whispered. "I haven't danced it since I was a little girl."

"Show me!" Kurt bounded up to her and took her hands.

She closed her eyes, her whole body tensed with effort at the memory.

"Well, first you bow and I curtsy, like this, and then…" The two took a few awkward steps together, but the discrepancy in their heights interfered.

Before he knew what he was doing, Georg gently nudged Kurt aside and took her hand, soft and warm, in his. Slowly, gently, he began to lead her through the steps. It might move things along, he told himself, if he could help her remember her past. He didn't let himself admit that it was a relief to have an excuse to touch her.

At first, she struggled for breath, and she was so dizzy that it took everything she had not to stumble over her own feet and land on the floor. Somehow, it helped steady her to watch his face, with its customary confident, assured expression, as he guided her through the figures.

 _Breathe,_ she told herself, focus, _concentrate_ , but then the music lifted her up, like wind in a sail, and after that she felt like she was flying, soaring effortlessly, with only his gentle touch to steer her. Exhilarated, feeling the smile spread across her face, she swept and spun through the movements. Her feet knew the steps, her hands knew just where to go.

There was only one moment when she faltered: when she remembered what came next. While her mind shrank at the thought, her heart nearly leapt from her chest. In any event, there was no way to stop the music's sweet, insistent pulse, no escape as he came up close to her. The Captain smelled like cologne and spices and something else, something masculine. Under her clothing, her skin prickled with heat in the places where his hand curved around her waist, and where his legs brushed against hers.

The air in the ballroom grew heavy and charged, swelling outward against the golden-filigreed walls. She felt herself melting, knowing she would surely dissolve into a puddle on the floor had it not been for his firm embrace. And she couldn't look at him, not anymore, because she was quite certain that if their eyes met, the resulting spark would surely ignite and the entire room would burst into flames.

At last, she summoned the strength to break away. "I don't remember any more," she said breathlessly. She could barely hear the music over the roar of her own heartbeat, and there was no escaping his knowing gaze, or the tender smile that sucked the air from her lungs.

"Fraulein," Marta broke in, "may I have a turn with Father?"

She picked up what shreds of composure she had left. "You can if you want to," she said, bending to tie Gretl's shoe. When she straightened up again, he was gone.

At teatime, she pleaded a headache and fled to the safety of her bedroom. Think, she told herself, _think,_ but her only thought was of him, his handsome face, that wicked smile, those smoldering blue eyes.

If he'd begun to invade her dreams, well, at least no one could see that. But letting him see how he affected her, that was quite another. How could she go on after what had happened between them today? Matters with the Captain would always be orderly and definite: he would never love anyone again the way he'd loved his wife; he had patched things up with his children; he was going to marry a titled aristocrat. There was no room for her in this picture, of course.

She was in too deep, and so, though it would break her heart to leave the children, it was past time for her to go. She must redouble her efforts to learn enough about herself, and her people, so that she could leave this place. And she'd start first thing tomorrow, with the red dome.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

His hands shook as he poured himself a double brandy and gulped it down. What the hell had just happened?

Georg ran his fingers through his hair and began to pace the room. He knew, with complete certainty, that if his children had not been in the ballroom, he'd have kissed her. Kissed her senseless, and more. Her blue eyes, looking up at him through the fringe of her lashes, had kindled something within him that he'd thought long dead.

He had very nearly been overtaken by a wave of desire – _lust,_ he told himself, let's call it what it is. This wasn't admiration or gratitude for a kind-hearted governess. This wasn't tender sympathy for a helpless lost soul hiding from some nameless troubles. Though she'd been wearing a dainty, girlish dress, another of Liesl's hand me downs, there was that moment when her skirt had lifted – the image of those long legs was permanently etched in his mind's eye.

His eyes fell on Elsa's latest telegram, lying discarded on the desk, and he was overcome by guilt. Why was he tempted to take advantage of a rough-edged girl half his age, while distancing himself from a charming, suitable, stunning woman who-

Moreover, he feared that if he didn't leave the villa – and soon – he would find himself doing something he was too ashamed to even think about. He had no right to complicate her already-difficult life, no right to force himself on her, but the temptation was very nearly irresistible.

Yes. It would be better for everyone if he returned to Vienna. To Elsa. Surely the feelings stirring within were more appropriately directed at her. And if Elsa and he became intimate, surely she would come around, would visit Salzburg, and would fall in love with his children. Or something close enough to suffice.

Georg poured himself another small splash of brandy, organizing his thoughts, making a plan. It would be best to leave quickly, without making any sort of fuss around her or the children.

He knew what he had to do in Vienna, and, he reminded himself, he already had the beginnings of a plan for the girl as well. She was deeply devoted to the children, so it would be hard for her to leave, but she'd probably go along with his plan out of gratitude. It was the least he could do for her, help her find her way on with her life.

Yes. It was time for all of them to move on.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 **Thank you so much for your reviews. Please keep them coming, even if you read this long after it's published, as they make a HUGE difference as I plow along with the remaining chapters (and there could be quite a few of them). I think it's interesting that many people like the slower pace at which things are developing between M &G (well, OK, slightly slower). That's what makes fanfiction so fun, isn't it? You couldn't have all of this happen in a three hour movie! Also, it's a good moment to pause and acknowledge that this story is devoid of Nazis, Anschluss, etc. At one point I tried to fix that, and you will see a little vestige of it in the next chapter, but after that I decided there's already too much going on so I abandoned the Anschluss angle. Oh, and I don't own anything, all for love.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

He had abandoned ship for Vienna within the hour, not even waiting for the weather to break, and without a word to his children or their governess. He did, however, make two stops on his way out of Salzburg. First, the jeweler, a bracelet for Elsa. Second, his solicitor, Herr Lenz.

"I have an assignment for you," Georg began, before he'd even taken a seat across from the older man, and then he quickly filled in all the pertinent details.

"I don't understand," Lenz said. "You took her in during a storm, that part I get. But then why didn't you hand her off to the police?"

"I don't know. These days, it's hard to know who to trust," Georg replied, though the truth of it was, at least at first, that he'd been too anxious to get out of Salzburg to ask too many questions about the girl.

"You don't know what you could end up with," Lenz warned. "She might be the type to make demands. Money, or worse. She might try to claim you tried to-"

"That won't happen," Georg said flatly. "Look, I need you to see what you can find out about her, and the sooner, the better. Spare no expense, hire a team of investigators if needed, do you understand? Your job is to find the facts, and then mine will be deciding what to do about them." That was all the man had to know for now.

Lenz shook his head. "This sort of search could take weeks, you understand. Or even months. Not to mention the cost. You're sure you want to get involved in something like this?"

I'm already involved, Georg thought to himself. This was only the first step, of course. As far as matters with his governess went, he didn't know exactly what would happen next; it would depend on Lenz's report. But surely she would be grateful to have the truth. It would only help. This is the least I can do for her, so that we can move on, all of us.

But all he said to Lenz was, "You have your orders. You can reach me in Vienna if you learn anything of interest. I'll be at my usual hotel for the next day or two. After that, I expect to be relocating to – to a private home. But I won't be going far. Just a block or two away."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

In the end, it was ridiculously simple. She'd just walked right up to the building with the red dome - Nonnberg Abbey, the Captain had said - and rung the bell. When the gates swung open, she was almost immediately engulfed in the warm embrace of a black-habited nun who chanted, over and over, like some kind of prayer:

"Maria. Thank God! Where have you been? Maria. Thank God! Where have you been? Maria. Thank God! Where have you been?"

Within a minute or two, there were a dozen or more of them, all in somber habits, clustered around her and chattering excitedly. And just like that, she was home again.

Sister Margarethe – How could she ever have forgotten Sister's dear, sweet face? – whisked her away to a small, quiet chapel and listened, wide-eyed, as Maria told her the whole amazing story, about how she'd woken up at the villa with no memory of who she was or how she'd gotten there. About the seven remarkable children, each of them in turn, and their father, and Dr. Weiss, and all the von Trapp household.

At last, Sister Margarethe leaned over and gave Maria's hand a comforting squeeze. "It's an incredible story, dear. We were terribly worried about you, you know, although of course I knew in my heart that the Lord would protect you from any harm."

"The only thing," Maria said, "is that I don't remember why or how I left here. I was here one morning, and the next morning, I woke up in Aigen. Why would I have left, Sister? Do you know? Why didn't anyone look for me?"

"Maria, darling. We looked everywhere for you! All the usual places, and some unusual ones as well. But who would have thought to look in an aristocratic household in Aigen? Were they good to you?'

"Oh, yes," Maria sparkled, although her heart gave a little flip at the thought of what had happened yesterday in the ballroom. And then she was off again, with more stories to tell about her time at the villa, and the marvelous von Trapp children. She might have gone on for hours, but her tale was interrupted by another familiar face.

"Maria. Welcome home," said Sister Berthe. Tall, forbidding, but Maria could see the hint of a smile behind the chilly exterior.

"Sister Berthe! Oh, it's _so_ good to be here again! Tell me, may I see Reverend Mother now?"

"Yes. Well," said Sister Berthe.

"Well, you see," Sister Margarethe interrupted, but then it seemed like she didn't have anything to say. There was a long, awkward silence, and finally Sister added, "Let Sister Berthe and I go consult with Reverend Mother, Maria. We'll be back shortly. Meanwhile, I'm sure you might like to spend some time with the Lord, to thank him for your safe return." Without waiting for an answer, the two nuns fled the room in a swirl of black skirts.

Maria turned to the front of the chapel and fell to her knees in wholehearted prayer. After a while, though, she rose and wandered aimlessly around the room, letting the memories rush in, feeling them flow over her and fill the empty spaces in her heart and mind.

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place so easily! Now it came back, all of it: the dreary winter day when the priest brought the news of her parents' death. Uncle Kurt and his peppermint drops. She remembered her teachers' training, dear Klaus, the days and nights spent hiking and camping on the mountain, the inspiration of a red sky at dawn bringing her nearer to God. She could recall the long days of prayer and meditation, Sister Margarethe's kindness, Sister Berthe's chastisement. Her heart leapt at the remembered joy of romping through a green mountain meadow.

Closing her eyes, clinging to the recollection of that green meadow, Maria spun in a slow circle, her face raised to seek the sunshine that could not penetrate this cramped, dark space. She moved dreamily, listening for the birds and the rustle of leaves - at least until she knocked over a small bench and broke the peaceful silence.

"Maria?'' It was Sister Margarethe again, along with Sister Berthe.

"Oh, sister, I _remember_!" I remember all of it," Maria frowned, "I mean, except why I left, _that_ is still a puzzle, but I remember everything else. I remember both of you. You and Reverend Mother- may I see her now? Because I'm ready at this moment to take my vows!"

She pushed away the image of that green meadow, and the unanswered question of why she'd left the Abbey if she'd been so happy here. But surely she was ready. This was the moment she'd been praying for, for weeks and weeks, wasn't it? What had happened in between was just some sort of dream. Wasn't it?

The two nuns exchanged uneasy glances, and it was Sister Berthe who explained the situation. "Reverend Mother is in seclusion. In prayer about – ehrm - about a difficult matter she has taken to the Lord. Why don't you go home and return tomorrow, Maria?"

Puzzled, Maria turned to Sister Margarethe, who smiled thinly. "Go home, darling. Go home and tell your family all about your exciting news. Tomorrow will be time enough to talk about the day you left, and to take the next steps toward your future."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was quite late by the time Georg checked into his usual hotel in Vienna, and he sent word to Elsa that he'd be around first thing in the morning. But when he arrived at Elsa's just after breakfast, he was greeted by a note explaining that she'd been unable to reschedule a fitting, and that she'd join him for luncheon.

Georg gave a groan of frustration; he was a man on a mission, in a rush to resolve things and move ahead. It was imperative that he confront Elsa while yesterday's fire still simmered in his veins. He had barely settled himself in the salon, with the newspaper and a cup of coffee to keep him company during the wait, when her butler interrupted.

Later, he would wonder what might have happened if the telephone call had not come when it had, or if the hotel's manager hadn't been quite so doggedly obliging. A matter of hours, and he might have managed it. Perhaps.

"Excuse me, Captain. Your hotel called. Someone's been trying to get in touch with you on an urgent matter. A Herr Lenz. You can use the telephone in the Baroness' study to return the call if you like."

"Georg?" Lenz's voice rapped over the wire. "About your mysterious governess. I've got what you need."

"Already? You said it would take weeks. Maybe months."

"It didn't take long, once I –

"Well, get on with it," Georg said, tapping his fingers on the desk. "What have you learned?"

"The thing is," Lenz said, with uncharacteristic delicacy, "it's not the sort of thing for a telephone call. I think you're going to want to go over this in person. When will you be back in town?"

Georg flinched. When Lenz had warned him the search might take a long time, he had taken the warning as though it were a promise. Somehow, he'd anticipated having more time to _accommodate_ , to adjust to his new life with Elsa, before finalizing matters with the girl. But now that things were happening much faster than he'd expected, the state of play had shifted somehow, in a way he couldn't quite put into words. His mind raced with possibilities he somehow had failed to consider up until now.

"Lenz. Don't go anywhere," was all Georg said, however. Within minutes, he had left a note for Elsa and was in a taxi on the way back to his hotel, though on the way, he asked the driver to stop so he could buy another gift. One he hadn't thought of before.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Deep down inside, he'd known the truth about matters with Elsa, known it for some time, he supposed, but he never would have guessed that the end would come disguised as a box of French macarons.

He was in his hotel room, gathering the few things he'd taken out overnight before returning to Salzburg, when there was a knock on the door.

"Elsa? What are you doing here?"

Elsa, normally utterly gracious and composed, was visibly rattled, her hair escaping from its combs and her blouse half-tucked in, as though she'd come from wherever she'd been in great haste.

"The question, Georg, is what _you_ are doing. I was under the impression that you had returned to Vienna to see me, but before we so much as lay eyes on each other, you leave word that you're departing again. Or am I mistaken?"

"No," he admitted. "I'm just finishing up here, and then I've got to get on the road. I'm sorry, Elsa, but something has come up."

"Do you really have to go, Georg? You've just arrived, for heaven's sake. I thought that you'd resolved the governess situation."

"It's not that," he said briefly. "Not this time, not exactly."

She paced the room restlessly, eyes darting everywhere, before stopping short at the sight of his open suitcase.

"What have you got there?"

"Oh, that." He handed her the jeweler's box. "I'd brought this along, you know…" he trailed off.

She barely glanced at the box in her hand before her eyes went back to the suitcase. "No, I mean _that_."

"Just some French macarons," he shrugged. The small box was the only one he could find, but he'd had it wrapped in gold paper with an enormous white satin bow and a spray of silk roses. It had cost much less than the bracelet, but he knew it would be far more appreciated.

"Macarons? I've never met another person who despised sweets the way you do, Georg."

"They're for my children."

Elsa frowned. "That's an awfully small box for seven children, Georg." She pursed her lips. "They're for your little Fraulein, aren't they? Your mystery governess."

"The girl did me a favor, Elsa. I'm merely trying to thank her."

Her shoulders sagged and her face softened. "Georg. Please. Don't make it any worse than it has to be. Something has happened between you and that girl. You must admit it."

"I admit nothing of the kind, Elsa." But the words felt evasive and ambivalent on his lips.

"Look. I made a mistake," she said desperately. "Maybe it _is_ time for me to visit Salzburg after all. Max can manage without me, I'm sure. If you can wait an hour or two, I can even come with you."

"I'm sorry, Elsa. Look, before I go – well, I'd be an ungrateful wretch if I didn't tell you at least once that it was you who brought some meaning back into my life. And I do thank you for that. But you should have given me your answer months ago. There was a time when I would have been happy to - but now I can't, I'm afraid." On this point, his voice was as certain as his feelings.

Elsa came up close to him and put a hand on his arm. Her eyes filled with tears as she searched his face for a long moment before she reached up to kiss his cheek. And then, as though she were a puppet pulled upright by an invisible string, she straightened, and her face hardened.

"Very well. Auf Wiedersehen, darling." And then she was gone.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Once again, Georg was on the road to Salzburg. How many times in the last four years had he made this trip, with the grief, dread and frustration growing as approached Salzburg, while the pull of Vienna's attractions behind him was nearly irresistible. Now, it was as though the winds had shifted: he felt the pull of home grow stronger by the mile.

An hour out of Vienna: Elsa was wrong, of course. There was really nothing between him and the girl, nothing more than a warm friendship, an exchange of favors. He'd given her a home and she'd given him his children. That incident in the ballroom – yes, and the evening in the library, too – were simply aberrations brought on by bad weather and boredom. There was nothing more to it.

Two hours out of Vienna: and was the idea so preposterous? True, she might be twenty or more years his junior - it was impossible to know – but they seemed to get along well, as well as he had with Elsa, except she loved his children, too. And if he were perfectly honest with himself, there was her captivating blue gaze, her lush mouth, her soft golden hair, her long, supple legs - that mouth! He couldn't stop thinking about it.

Three hours out of Vienna he was overcome with remorse at the direction his thoughts had turned. The girl was defenseless, alone in the world. It would be taking advantage to approach her, as she had nowhere else to go. And, he warned himself, she was young enough that she might bring her heart into things, and that was a complication best avoided.

At last, he was seated in Lenz's office.

"It's all right here," the man told him, gesturing to a sheaf of papers. "Nothing would make me happier to send you a big bill for my trouble, but the fact is, it took no time at all. It was all over the papers, if you'd only bothered to look. I should have made the connection right away, but you threw me off with your description." Lenz shuffled the papers for a bit before quoting Georg's words back to him. "Pretty. Full of life, the will of the wisp type, a bit of a clown."

"I don't read the papers," Georg said with a tight-lipped smile, "so why don't you tell me the news I paid you to discover?"

"She ran away from home. They've been worried sick about her," Lenz started.

"Home? But she believes her parents are dead," Georg said.

"She wasn't living with her parents."

His heart sank. "So she's married, is that it?"

"No," Lenz said. "I mean yes, in a manner of speaking. But not really."

The man was enjoying himself too much!

"Stop talking gibberish," Georg warned, rising from his seat.

"She's a nun," Lenz said, grinning.

Georg was speechless, the breath knocked from his lungs. His legs could somehow not support him and he slumped back into his chair.

"A _what_?" he choked.

"A nun. Well, almost. A trainee of sorts, at Nonnberg Abbey. Postulants, they call them. They haven't taken their vows or anything-"

He did not like the knowing look Lenz sent his way.

The solicitor returned to his files. "She was a handful. Definitely not one of their shining stars, but they adored her anyway. She simply vanished late one afternoon, leaving no trace behind, and they tore the whole city up looking for her. It was all over the papers, like I say. I got hold of one of their flyers." He shoved a bright-yellow paper across his desk.

"That's her," Georg confirmed.

"I was hoping you'd be able to identify her. Saves me the trouble of having to call on them. They still don't know where she is, or that you've been looking for her. The next move is yours to make."

The solicitor's voice faded into the background as Georg attempted to make sense of what he'd heard. Yes, the little governess had reinstituted grace at meals, took the children to church each Sunday, and spoke frequently of God's will. There was her fascination with the red dome. And her remarkable command of Latin, which had seemed odd in a young woman who spoke no other language.

But. There was also the way that she couldn't sit still. The tree-climbing and banister-sliding. The way she couldn't seem to stop singing wherever she was. He was fairly certain he'd heard a curse word or two fly from her mouth. And then there was the curve of her waist, the press of her body against his.

The young woman he knew was not made for the cloister.

"Georg?" Lenz interrupted his thoughts. "Don't you want to know her name?"

"Of course," Georg said numbly.

"Maria. Her name is Maria Rainier. And a word of advice for you, Georg. It was one thing to have a young girl living in your house, what with your practically being engaged to your baroness in Vienna, and almost never in residence."

"Elsa – we've called off our engagement," Georg said vaguely.

"Well, then, all the more reason to act quickly. A nun in training under your roof? The minute the word gets out, the gossip is going to fly, and it's not going to care who gets hurt. You. Your children. Her."

Georg was still trying to make sense of it. Not twenty-four hours ago, his plans had been neatly laid out, a future with Elsa and the start to a neat resolution for the mysterious Fraulein. Now Elsa was gone for good and his plans for the girl – _Maria_ , he reminded himself – lay in ruin.

Or did they?

He wasn't ready to give up, not yet.

"Lenz," he said slowly, the details taking shape in his mind. "Here is what I want you to do."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **The updates will come a little more slowly now that work is picking up again. I can't tell you how motivating your reviews are – even though you don't always "guess" correctly what's going to happen, it helps me sharpen things up to know what you think will happen. Very short reviews are welcome too! Fans of the real Maria's books will recognize some material I borrowed for the Elsa scene, and won't be surprised that Georg changed direction so abruptly. Thanks lemacd for consulting on that deleted paragraph. I don't own TSOM or anything about it!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

All the way home on the bus, she rehearsed what she would tell the children, going over and over the exact words she'd use to break the news. But it hardly seemed real, the idea of saying goodbye to them. It was like being trapped in a dream she couldn't awaken from – not a _bad_ dream, Maria told herself hastily, not exactly.

If only it weren't all happening quite so fast! There wouldn't even be an opportunity to thank the Captain for taking her in, because, as it turned out, he'd fled for Vienna within an hour of their unnerving encounter in the ballroom. At first, she _had_ been a little hurt by his disappearance. But maybe it was better this way in the end. Hard as it would be to say goodbye to the children, somehow it seemed like it would be even more difficult to tell him her news.

Frau Schmidt greeted her in the foyer. "The children are out on the terrace," the housekeeper said, adding something about a surprise Maria didn't quite catch. She was too busy swallowing back the lump that had grown in her throat at the thought of saying goodbye to all of them, Frau Schmidt, Franz, Miri…Sighing, she crossed the foyer and went out onto the terrace.

The Captain was standing at the bottom of the steps, surrounded by the children, looking up at her with an oddly strained expression.

"Fraulein! Fraulein! Father's come back from Vienna!"

"So I see," she said briskly, nodding in his direction. "Now, children, I want you to go inside and start your dinner. I need to talk to your father for a moment," and they were off, lugging his suitcase along with them.

Maria hadn't seen him since the last notes of the Laendler had faded away in the ballroom, and the memories and feelings came flooding back, threatening to undermine her fragile composure. If there was one thing she'd learned from his lectures on military history, it was this: it was always best to meet the enemy on the offensive.

"Captain. You left without saying goodbye, even to the children!"

"It was wrong of me," he said smoothly. "Forgive me."

"But why-"

"Please don't ask me. Anyway, the reason no longer exists."

Georg had lingered outside Lenz's office for more than an hour before making his way home, all the while weighing two appalling choices: he could keep what he'd learned from his governess, which was clearly deceitful, or he could break the news to her, an awkward task he dreaded. The first would be unfair to her; the second was unfair to him. Of course, he'd anticipated having to tell Maria about the search eventually, but in some far-off, hazy future, not _now._ And who would ever have imagined the search would yield such unsettling results! How had he gotten himself into this situation?

"Fraulein. I have a serious matter to discuss with you. Not-" he glanced out at the lake, painted by the setting sun- "not out here."

But she only drew back her shoulders and announced, "Fine, Captain, but there is something urgent we need to talk about first."

"Well, it will have to wait, Fraulein, because this is a matter of vital importance to _you_ personally."

"Mine concerns your children, Captain."

"Mine does as well, Fraulein."

He turned and marched back into the house, leaving her no choice but to scurry along behind him. When he stepped aside to allow her to enter the library, Maria felt her offensive advantage begin to wither – they were on his territory now.

He still had no idea what he was going to say, so Georg bought himself time by doing what always worked well for him: resorting to intimidation, putting her on the defensive. Drawing himself up to his full height, he spat, "I arrived home to find my children loitering aimlessly on the terrace. Do you make a habit of leaving then to fend for themselves in the middle of the day, while you disappear on personal business?"

"Even a governess needs time off occasionally, Captain." she said evenly. "I was in Salzburg looking for- ehrm," she faltered, "for something. Something _important_." Well, the truth was important, wasn't it?

"Something more important than my children?" he demanded, crossing his arms. "And have you found it, Maria?"

The sound of her name on his lips was like a blow that left her speechless. The stunned silence hung between them for several long, awkward moments before Maria was able to choke out, "My name! You – you know my _name_?"

Before he could stop himself, Georg let out a low curse. What had he _done_? How had he – a decorated war hero, famed as a brilliant strategic thinker – how had he been so irresponsible, so impulsive, so _incompetent_ , that he had simply blurted out the delicate news? He ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "I apologize," he mumbled. "I was not certain of the best way to tell you-" Then his eyes flew to her face. "Wait. How did you-"

"I just found out myself a few hours ago. I went to– is it only my name, Captain, or do you know the rest of it?" she asked cautiously.

"If you mean about Nonnberg, I know all of it, yes. I had some inquiries made. I don't know why I didn't think of it before." Although he _did_ know: at first, he'd been so desperate to escape to Vienna that he didn't care who she was, or where she'd come from. Later, he hadn't wanted to do anything that might result in her leaving. For the children's sake, of course.

"I went looking for the red dome, you see, and – well, it doesn't matter anymore. And isn't it amusing?" she went on, with an effortful tone of cheerful gaiety straining her voice, "You were right all along about my name. It _was_ Maria after all! Maria Rainier. An orphan. A girl who loves music, who's trained as a teacher-"

"And a postulant at Nonnberg Abbey," he finished. By now, he had regained his composure, and his face was unreadable. "Tell me. Did that last part surprise you?"

"I felt that God was always with me during my time here, yes." It was not exactly an answer to his question, but it was the only thing she'd admit to. Privately, Maria was beginning to panic at the thought of being locked behind those gates forever, of never seeing the children again. She couldn't even let herself think of the foolish thoughts she'd entertained about him. That was all in the past, now.

"Were _you_ surprised, Captain?" she asked suddenly. "About me?"

What would she say if she knew that he'd nearly convinced himself she belonged in his bed! "Well," he said slowly, "you obviously have a very big heart, and a lot to give. You must be thrilled, to have it all straightened out."

"Yes! Oh, yes, of course," she skittered. "It's just that-"

His eyes caught and held hers. "It's just what, Fraulein?"

"It - it's only natural. I've been very happy here. It will be a bit of an adjustment, but I'm sure I'll be…" the words faded into the deepening evening shadows that lined the room.

"I see. Tell me," he said, tucking his hands behind his back and beginning to pace the room, ""What are your plans?"

"I couldn't see Reverend Mother today, so they sent me home – I mean, they sent me back here until tomorrow. And I wanted to come back, of course, to say goodbye to the children. And to you, now that you're back from Vienna," she added, feeling her cheeks turn pink. "I told them I'd return in the morning. I'll ask Franz to drive me."

"We'll tell them tonight, then?"

She looked up at him gratefully. "Yes, sir. I'd like it if we told them together. One last night as a fam-" Horrified, she caught herself before the presumptuous thought slipped out entirely, but he didn't seem to have noticed.

One last night, Georg thought to himself. He wished now that he _had_ kissed her that day in the ballroom. God forgive him, it was blasphemy, or nearly so, even to think it, but since it might never be more than an idle thought, what was the harm in it?

"You'll have to find another governess," she ventured politely, as though looking for safe conversational ground.

He was still pacing the room, back and forth, calm and methodical, appearing completely in control. "Why, yes, I suppose I will. It seems less urgent this time, somehow. Thanks to you. Fraulein," he said, stopping abruptly in his tracks. "You know, you don't _look_ very happy. Are you sure you want to go back?"

She squeezed her eyes closed against the tears that prickled there. "Of course. It's God's will, after all."

He took a deep breath, sending up a silent prayer that God would accept a little bit of help. "You know," Georg said casually, "my mother used to say that when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."

She shook her head. "What kind of a ridiculous saying is that?"

He reached inside his jacket and drew out the thick envelope Herr Lenz had prepared.

The Captain was talking so fast now that Maria could barely follow what he was trying to tell her. "Fraulein. You don't have to go back if you don't want to. I own a small cottage outside of Vienna, up in the mountains. It's yours if you want it. This is the deed. A gift, a way of thanking you for everything. My solicitor will be arranging a bank account, nothing extravagant, but enough to keep up the house, and to keep you fed and warm. "

She frowned at him. "Why?" she asked, suspiciously, "Why are you doing this?"

"Like I said, to thank you. I'm a wealthy man, you understand. But also, to give you a choice, a say in your own future," he said. "That's all. If you want to go back to Nonnberg, Fraulein, then go. But if you have any doubts at all, then please. Take this." He held out the envelope, but she recoiled at the gesture.

"You would send me away from the children?"

"You can't stay here. It would cause a scandal. You were all over the papers, and of course I'm well known, so, you see…."

"Scandal," she repeated faintly.

"You can visit us here, of course."

"Is it," she swallowed, "I suppose it is because you are getting married, is that it? And no longer in need of a governess?"

He looked puzzled for a moment before understanding dawned on his face. "Ah! Baroness Schrader, is that it? No, no. We've called off our engagement, you see. There isn't going to be any baroness. But even so, the children won't need a governess forever, you know. This way, you'll be set no matter what."

"Set?" her voice trembled. "Is that what you call it? And what would I owe you in return?"

"Fraulein, it's nothing like that," although even to his own ears, he sounded unconvincing. This wasn't going at all well. Georg _did_ want to rescue her, to give her a choice besides locking herself in the convent. But if he were perfectly honest with himself, the thought _had_ occurred to him that, just possibly- but no. _No._ Unless…

"I'm sorry. I can't," she started to say, but he reached for her hand and interrupted her.

"Maria. Don't go back there. Please. You don't want to, and we both know it."

She yanked her hand from his.

"You want to sleep in my bed, don't you?"

For the first time since he was a boy, and despite his long and colorful history as a ladies' man and later an ardent husband, Georg von Trapp blushed.

"Why, no, of course not," he fumbled. "That's not the idea. Not at all. Not that I would object – I mean, there is no requirement or anything like that, but if that's what you like," he let out an exasperated sigh and finished, "You can if you want to."

Her eyes burned blue with fury, but he saw something else there, too. Fear. In her eyes, darting nervously around the room as though searching for an escape route. And in the way she backed away with her hand outstretched, palm facing him, as though warning him to keep his distance.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but no." Her hand was trembling, but her voice remained calm. "That sort of thing is definitely not for me. It would be too - _humiliating._ But thank you very much for the offer." She edged toward the door again.

"Maria. _Fraulein_ Maria, I mean." he said, trying desperately to right the ship. "I apologize. I just wanted you to have a choice. Not to be forced into a future that doesn't fit you at all. You owe me nothing in return. I was wrong to have even..."

She had the door open before she turned to face him again, and in a low voice tinged with sadness and anger, said, "You _were_ right about one thing. When you lose something you love, it's better to forget it ever existed. I can hardly bear the thought of never seeing the children again, leaving everything here behind. I'd do _anything_ to be able to forget this place. The children. _You_ ," she finished fiercely, and then she ran from the room.

"It's not the same thing!" he called after her, though he wasn't sure why, exactly, it was different. But there was only the echoing sound of the door slamming behind her.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The next few hours passed slowly, and the whole time, Maria continued to feel as though she was in a dream – a nightmare, now, she could admit it - that she couldn't awaken from. Amidst the clamor of the family's dinner routine, with the children especially jubilant at their father's return, there was a moment or two when she could almost pretend that it _was_ only a dream, at least until his eyes met hers and they both looked hastily away.

Soon enough, however, they were gathered in the salon, breaking the news to the children. They carefully avoided looking at each other, and the Captain stood by the fireplace in stoic silence while she made her announcement,

"…and so, although I am very, _very_ sad to be leaving all of you, I am grateful to God for showing me the way back to Nonnberg – ehrm, I mean home, of course - again. I don't think it will be possible," Georg heard the quaver in her voice before a final show of strength, "for you to visit, but I will be sure to ask. And I will pray for you, all of you, every night, and I ask you to do the same for me."

At the worst of the storm that followed – indignant tears, sad tears, desperate tears, seven children crying _oceans_ of tears – she looked over to see Louisa, crumpled against him, her face buried in his shoulder while he smoothed the hair from her face. _Louisa_. Maria knew what this must be costing him, not to run away, to stand his ground and watch his children suffer, this child especially. Despite her outrage and humiliation, she couldn't help sending a grateful glance his way, and to warm at his nod of acknowledgement.

It was almost midnight before she had settled them in their beds and returned to her room. It had begun to rain outside, a ferocious, driving rain that brought back memories of the night she'd arrived at the villa. Though the clouds blocked any view of stars or moon, Maria stood by the window, peering out into the cold wet nothingness. She wasn't ready to sleep, and there was nothing for her to pack – she couldn't take anything with her, anything except memories, of course. No matter her outburst a few hours earlier, she knew she would carry the von Trapp family in her heart for the rest of her life.

It was a shame that things had ended on such a sour note with the Captain. The nerve of the man, practically propositioning her! Oh, she'd been a fool. What had she expected? While he might not be marrying Baroness Schrader after all, still, the next time it would probably be a princess!

Her heart ached with regret and loss, and another fear she could barely admit to: if she, Maria, had been able to find happiness at the villa, even when she'd lost all her childhood memories, wasn't it possible that the von Trapp family might forget her entirely? They would go on without her, as though it had never taken place, as though it _had_ been a dream.

"Whatever happens, it will be the will of God," she reminded herself, sinking to her knees. "Even if you can't quite see it, right now." And so she thanked Him for helping her find her way back to Nonnberg, and for keeping her safe at the villa. She could easily have died out there in that storm, on a night very much like tonight, had the Captain not come along.

Her throat closed with sorrow that they had parted on such dreadful terms. He had done so much for her! He wasn't entirely wrong about her mixed feelings, either, and in his own way, he'd been trying to help. The poor man had endured so many losses and had made such an effort to make things right with his children. Shouldn't she find it within herself to forgive him, she who was going to dedicate her life to God's service?

She climbed into bed and shut out the light, letting her memory take her back into the ballroom. She could almost hear the sweet strains of the Laendler. Even then, it had been his strong arms and reassuring smile that had shown her the way. What might have happened if that long-ago dance in the ballroom had ended differently? What might have happened if her response today had been any different? But how _could_ it have been? How could she have been anything but humiliated, mortified, ashamed? And even if it was possible, there was no point in revisiting it now. The deed was done.

The thoughts chasing noisily through her mind, and the storm raging outside, made sleep impossible. The clock struck one. Franz was bringing the car around at six and she must be at her best for Reverend Mother! Frantic for sleep, but too wrought-up to achieve it, she suddenly heard the Captain's voice in her ears.

" _You are probably one of the lucky ones who sleeps like a baby, but there are those of us, Fraulein, who occasionally need a little help quieting the storm inside."_

Gathering Liesl's voluminous hand-me-down nightdress close around her, Maria slipped down the stairs, checking to be sure no light shone beneath the door to the library before she pushed it open. The room lay in darkness, but she knew the bar was only a few steps to the left, and the brandy decanter was usually just in the center. There were glasses, there, too, the ones shaped like balloons he used-

"Good evening," his voice came from deep in the shadows.

"Captain! What are you-?"

"Why are you always asking me what I'm doing in my own house?" he said, his voice threaded with amusement. "The question is what _you_ are doing here."

He switched on a small lamp and she could see that he sat slumped in the big armchair by the fireplace. The brandy decanter sat on the floor next to his feet, along with the jacket he'd discarded there. His tie was loosened, his hair was awry, his face was shadowed with stubble and, as he rose to his feet, there was something rather _blurry_ about him.

As he approached her, she took an instinctive step backward. It was nothing new, to feel intimidated in the Captain's presence. But tonight, his menacing demeanor was different, somehow. No longer ice cold but dangerously hot instead.

Rain lashed against the windows. They stood silently, staring at each other, for what might have been a minute or an hour. She was afraid to say or do anything, not trusting his response, but at last, she managed, "I'm sorry, Captain. I should go."

She turned back toward the door but he moved swiftly to stop her, wrapping his hand gently around her wrist.

"Not so fast, Maria. Or should I say Fraulein? Or even Sister?"

"Maria is fine," she said unsteadily. "I'm sorry that I disturbed you. I couldn't sleep, and I remembered what you said about brandy being a help."

"Brandy?" Again, that amused, confident air. While she'd been upstairs suffering, he'd been down here entertaining himself with his thoughts. And the brandy decanter, apparently. "That's _got_ to be against the rules, Maria."

"Starting tomorrow," she said, startling herself with a witless giggle.

"My pleasure, then," he said – had he just _winked_ at her? She watched while he retrieved the brandy, accepted the glass he handed her and tossed down the drink, the way she'd seen him do it. The burning sensation almost knocked her off her feet.

"Thank you," she rasped, mustering her dignity.

"You're welcome," he said gravely. "Was there something else you wanted? A French macaron, perhaps? I've got a box of them around here somewhere."

She regarded him warily. "No, thank you."

"Any other rules you'd like to break?"

"Yes," Maria stumbled, "I mean, no. I mean, I _would_ like to thank you again for your generosity. I'll never be able to thank you properly."

"No, I suppose not. Not anymore, you won't," he said, his blue eyes gleaming. He watched her with a steady, predatory gaze, until her flushed face told him that she'd gotten his meaning, and then gestured at her glass.

"More brandy? It would be a shame not to take advantage of the opportunity. This stuff costs a fortune. Why, one bottle costs more than a governess makes in a year! Although I gather you don't have very expensive tastes. Which should make that vow of poverty easy enough. I have a little more trouble understanding how you'll cope with the other two."

"No, thank you," she fluttered. "I really ought to be going." She turned toward the door, but before she could pull it open, his hand clamped around her wrist again, this time with a grip that she felt all the way down to her toes.

"Maria. You are not dismissed. Not until you satisfy my curiosity about something."

She turned to face him, her back nearly flat against the closed door, willing her face to remain impassive, willing her hammering heart not to leap from her chest entirely. "What is it, Captain?"

"It's very simple," he said slowly. He rested his hands on the door, one on either side of her head, trapping her with the wall of his body. He was standing so close that she could feel the heat come off of him, so close she could see the muscle that twitched in his jaw.

" _Why,_ Fraulein?"

"W-Why?" she stammered.

" _Why._ Tell me why. Why you want to lock yourself up with a bunch of dried-up old women. How is it that you could _possibly_ have chosen this path for yourself? I _know_ you. I knew you when you barely knew yourself. It does not seem…possible."

For an instant, Maria wished she _could_ tell him the whole story. She'd only regained the memory of it for herself a few hours ago, and it seemed terribly important to make him understand, as though he would help her come to terms with it, too. But reason quickly took over and she said only, "It's really none of your business, Captain. Now if you would only-"

"O-ho!" His deep blue gaze pinned hers, so that she couldn't look away even though she longed to. "That's where you're wrong. In fact," he leaned closer to her, until she could feel the warm tickle of his breath against her ear, "it _is_ my business."

Like a moth flirting with a flame, she couldn't bring herself to turn away. She could only stand, frozen by the certain knowledge of what would happen between them if she moved even a fraction of an inch.

"Can this be happening to me?" she said unsteadily.

He leaned back and regarded her with an amused half smile. "Nothing is _happening_ to you. All I'm asking for is an answer to my question, and you know, you _do_ owe me. As you yourself pointed out. I gave you safety, I gave you a home-"

 _Home_. The word stopped her cold.

" _Go home_ ," Sister Berthe had said. "To your _family_ ," Sister Margarethe had added.

And it was true. _This,_ not Nonnberg, was her home and her family. Maria couldn't hold back the strangled cry of longing, misery and grief that echoed in the dark room.

The heart rending sound made him back swiftly away from her and watch, alarmed, as she bent over, as though she'd been punched in the gut.

She pulled in a ragged, gasping breath and flinched, anticipating a cutting retort from him, but there was only silence. When she looked up, though, his face was wiped clean of mischief. His mood was no longer playful, and his beautiful eyes were soft and suspiciously bright.

"So," he murmured. "It appears that there _is_ something else you need, after all."

Without another word, he opened his arms to her. What else could she do, but go to him and let the storm break?

Georg held her gently, as though she might crumble in his arms, while she wept her heart out. "I am not the sort of girl who cries," she had lectured him once, but now, his shirt was soaked with her tears. And all throughout, he murmured gently, comforting sounds in place of the words he couldn't bring himself to say, and what would be the point now?

Why did he feel that he had made a mess of things? He had intended to send her on her way, and she was going. He wanted her, true. Even now, he couldn't quite ignore the soft curves of her body pressed against his, seeking solace. But he was an honorable man, and one who would never be able to love her the way she deserved. Anyway, no matter the temptations he'd pondered earlier in the day, he was no longer thinking of ravishing her, but of comforting her. Although he felt rather in need of comforting himself.

After a while, she cried herself out. "I'm sorry," she hiccoughed.

"There's no need to apologize. But you ought to get some rest." He released his hold on her, but she stumbled against him, drained by grief and fatigue. So he tucked his arm securely about her waist and, bearing most of her weight against him, got her out of the library, across the foyer, and upstairs to her room. By the time he deposited her on the bed and pulled the quilt over her, she was nearly asleep.

He was halfway out the door when he heard her murmur. "Please. Don't leave me. Not yet."

"Never," he wanted to say, but he couldn't, of course. Instead, he perched on the side of her bed and took her soft, warm hand in his. He waited, listening to the rain drum at the windows, until she had relaxed into sleep. But as soon as she sensed him preparing to move, she tightened her hand on his. She did this once more, then twice.

He was exhausted himself, and tense with emotion. Without letting himself think about what he was doing, Georg stretched out alongside her, smoothed the hair from her forehead and whispered, "All right, now. I'm here. Go to sleep."

The rain woke him once more, in the middle of the night, just long enough for him to remember where he was, just long enough to know that she had nestled under his chin, against his heart. Then sleep claimed him again.

The next time he woke, the room was filled with bright yellow sun, and he was alone.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Yes, I know I said work would keep me away from this story for a while, but those reviews! Those reviews! And the PMs! I could not stay away from them, or you. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Also: you know, most of my stories start with one image, even if that image ends up being not central to the story after a while, and this story began in my mind with the image of Georg opening his arms to Maria, as happens (under different circumstances) in the Story of the Trapp Family Singers. Anyway, stay tuned. I don't own, all for love, and so on.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The sound of the ticking clock echoed noisily around the library. That clock had been in the family since before he was born, but he didn't remember it ever being so _loud!_ Or was the house just unusually quiet, these last few days? Three days, to be exact, since Maria had slipped away from the villa before sunrise and returned to Nonnberg Abbey. The children crept through the house at all hours of the day and night like listless shadows. The servants went about their tasks stiff mouthed and grim. Though it wasn't the same thing at all, he couldn't help but be reminded of that terrible time four years ago, when Agathe had left them.

Georg glanced at the sideboard and the brandy bottle, but turned away. He could not return to that dark place, _would_ not turn away from his children again. Three days after the fact, he found it almost painfully embarrassing to recall his foolish, last-ditch effort to keep Maria from returning to Nonnberg. But still, he would always be grateful for what she had done for his family. Now she was gone, leaving him with questions he couldn't quite formulate, and restless for something he couldn't quite name. He wouldn't go back to Elsa, he was sure of that. Sighing, he turned back to his paperwork, trying and failing to lose himself in diagrams and plans.

Suddenly, through the open library window, he heard a commotion: the children, laughing and shouting. So their grief had been short lived after all, only three days. Well, at their young ages, they _would_ be resilient. That was something he was supposed to be grateful for. They would move on more easily than he, just as they had after Agathe's death. This time, he would try not to resent them for it.

The clamor outside the window intensified until he decided he ought to check on them, so he pushed away from his desk and strode through the foyer toward the terrace. It surprised him, how smoothly things had been going; perhaps that was why he'd felt no sense of urgency about finding another governess. When he'd spent time with his children these last few days, it was as though a little bit of Maria lingered among them, refusing to fade into a distant, pleasant memory.

The afternoon sun on the terrace was so bright after the dimly lit library that, at first, Georg thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. His children clustered noisily at the bottom of the steps, and there at their center - yes, it _was_ her, he was certain of it - stood Maria. She was wearing an ill-fitting, cheerfully flowered dress and a vague smile that didn't reach her eyes. There was something oddly tentative about her, as though she'd misplaced her usual sparkle.

"Good evening," were the only words he could find.

"Good evening, Captain." Her greeting was barely audible, and she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Go," he waved a hand toward the children. "Everyone. Go inside and have your dinner."

"But Father, dinner's not for a half-hour yet!" Friedrich exclaimed.

"This is exactly what happened the last time!" Brigitta complained. "Why do you always send us inside when something interesting is happening?"

Then Kurt chimed in. "Why can't she come with us? We have more to tell her than you do, Father!"

There were times when he still wished for the whistle, and this was one of them. "Go!" he barked, and they scurried away, though he didn't quite like the smirk on Liesl's face.

Maria's wan smile vanished instantly. Her eyes followed the children back into the house, as though she was losing her only allies. Then there was no sound but birdsong, and the wind, moving through the trees like a restless sea.

"Well," he said, breaking the silence at last, "this _is_ a pleasant surprise. I didn't think you'd be allowed to visit at all, let alone after only three days."

A mumbled reply.

"I didn't quite catch that, Maria. Ehrm, Fraulein."

"I said, it's not a v-visit," she said unsteadily. She still wouldn't look at him. "I'm sorry."

His heart gave an odd little leap. "You are? I mean, you are back to stay?"

"Y-yes. I'm sorry, Captain. Th-they-"

"They what? There is no need to be afraid. You are safe here with us. Were they unkind to you?"

"Oh, _no_!" Her head jerked toward him, so that he could once again see her face, which looked alarmingly like it had that first night when he'd found her by the side of the road: deathly pale, eyes wild and panicky. There was no sign of his plucky, fearless Fraulein.

From the corner of his eye, he saw something move, something that upon further inspection turned out to be seven curious pairs of eyes, peering at them from the salon window.

"Come with me," he said, and taking her by the elbow, he propelled her firmly down along the lakeside path until they reached the old gazebo. Stones skittered everywhere as her feet dragged along beside him, and her arm felt tense beneath his fingers.

"Now," he directed, seating himself on the stone bench that ringed the gazebo, although Maria remained standing, rigid, in the center. "Tell me what happened."

Her voice trembled with the effort. "They said – oh, I can't. I can't. I just _can'_ t."

"Come now, Maria. Why did they send you back to us? How bad could it be? What did you do? Sing in the abbey? Waltz your way to mass? Tear your habit?"

Not even the ghost of a smile. She wiped her palms on her skirt and then dug her fists into her eyes for a moment, as though gathering her thoughts and her courage, before opening her mouth to speak. But words failed her, and she clamped her mouth shut again.

His heart sank. "What is it? Are you ill, Maria?" He stood and approached her, coming close enough to see that it wasn't only her voice that was trembling. Her whole body was shaking like a leaf.

""They said,"- he could see her swallow - "that is, they told me-"

"Yes?" he said encouragingly.

"They said I have to _m-m-marry_ you," she wailed.

She looked so miserable that his first and only instinct was to comfort her. _Despite_ her bizarre announcement. For the second time in three days, Georg opened his arms to her.

Surely he must have misheard her. She was trying to explain things in between sobs, but her voice was muffled against his shoulder and he couldn't make out most of what she was saying, something about Vienna, mountains, an envelope, a bus driver, Reverend Mother and God's will. He wasn't going to get anything useful out of her for a while; there was nothing to be done except to rub her back gently, let his hands rest lightly on her soft hair, and murmur comforting words until she was calm enough to be led to the stone bench.

"All right," he said, handing her a big white handkerchief, "take this, and tell me what happened. I'm sure I missed something, because I could have sworn you said-"

"I did," she sniffled. "I'm so sorry. I swear, I was _never_ such a watering pot before all of this happened to me."

"Did I understand you to say-?" he pressed.

"Yes. They sent me back here to m-marry you, even though I tried to tell them it was impossible, that you would never agree to it. I shouldn't have come back here at all, but I don't have anywhere else to go." Her voice wobbled dangerously at the last bit.

The Mother Abbess of one of Europe's most distinguished orders was playing matchmaker? It made no sense. He took the handkerchief from her and mopped his brow.

"Could you please," he said faintly, "start at the very beginning?"

Slowly, in bits and pieces, he got the story out of her.

Upon her return to the Abbey three days ago, Maria had been treated like an honored guest. "I was happy to be back, although," she paused, "I was unhappy, too. They showed me to this – this guest room, with a private bath, and sweet-smelling soap, and a vase of flowers by the bed. They brought me my meals on a tray, the whole time I was there. Not being sent back to the dormitory, not working or praying or even eating with the others? That was my first clue."

"Perhaps they were just trying to ease you back into things?" he asked.

She regarded him with a cynical shake of the head and then went on. "I was hoping to find out how and why I'd left in the first place, but no one would answer any of my questions. That was the second clue," she said bitterly. "Also, every time I asked to see Reverend Mother, all they would say was, 'Soon, Maria darling, soon.' That should have been my third clue. Eventually, it was, 'Maybe tomorrow, Maria darling'. So I gave up and went to bed. I was exhausted, because my last night here, I hadn't slept at _all_ well," she said broodingly.

Georg knew better, remembering how she'd slept soundly in his arms that last night, but he said nothing.

"The next day was exactly the same," she continued. "Finally, after lunch today, I was taken to see Reverend Mother. She wouldn't look me in the eye – well, it was another clue, if I'd been paying attention. I was so stupid not to have seen what was coming. _Stupid_." She pounded her fist on her knee.

"You are many things, Maria, but stupid is not one of them. What happened next?"

It was at that point, Maria told him, that the Reverend Mother had finally filled in the missing details about the day she'd gone missing from the Abbey, the details that had been lost to her memory. Apparently, it had all started the morning of the terrible storm, only hours before he'd found her by the side of the road.

That very morning, Maria had been informed that it was God's will that she leave the Abbey for good. That she was never going to take her vows. That she would never be one of the sisters.

"After I heard _that_ ," she said, "it started to come back to me. I remember being so disappointed that I thought my heart would break in two." Her voice faltered, and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Georg handed her back the handkerchief and waited for her to blow her nose noisily before she went on.

"I really thought that this year, it would be my turn at last. I'd been waiting for two years, watching girls who came after me enter the novitiate, and all that time, I prayed and learned and tried, I really did. Oh, they were very kind about it. In fact, they'd found me a teaching job at a school in Vienna. _Vienna_ ," she repeated, turning to him with a bleak expression that told him exactly how she must have felt.

He and the Reverend Mother had something in common, then: they had both tried to banish her to Vienna. He reached over and took her hand. "Go on, Maria."

"My train to Vienna wasn't until the next morning. But they sent me back to that little room to wait," - her mouth twisted – "like I was some kind of evil influence. The least they could have done was to let me say goodbye! But I wasn't allowed to go to Vespers, or anything. They gave me that pink dress, like I was going to some kind of party. And I _hate_ pink! That dress – it belonged to Elissa Hassfeld. Our newest postulant. She entered the Abbey in a _party dress_ , for heaven's sake, and they made her a novice after only three months. Three _months!_ Anyway," Maria stopped to blow her nose again, "they gave me a big leather hat, too, and an envelope with money for the train to Vienna, and then …" She took a deep breath.

"And then?"

"I ran away, to my mountain. While they were at Vespers. I ended up at the meadow we picnicked in, do you remember? I _thought_ I recognized it that day, but of course … well, at first, I felt a little better, just being up there, but my mind just kept going round in circles, thinking about everything I'd sacrificed to enter the Abbey. Grieving that everything I'd hoped and dreamed and worked for was gone. _Gone_."

Maria stared out into the night, looking back into her past, he supposed, a past he suddenly realized that he knew nothing about. It was almost as though she'd forgotten he was there and was left alone with her memories: a forlorn figure in a cheerfully flowered dress, desolation evident in her face, her posture, her voice.

"All my happiness was shattered," she whispered. "I had longed to give my heart to God, and He rejected me."

Georg thought his own heart might break along with hers, but he didn't quite know how to tell her that, so he simply squeezed her hand and, after a moment, inquired gently, "How long were you up there?"

"Ehrm-" She shook herself back to the gazebo. "I don't know. I must have lost track of time, because when the storm hit, it was already quite dark."

"Are you mad? Do you know what could have happened to you up there?"

"Oh," she dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "I could never get lost up there. That's _my_ mountain! But it _was_ wet, and cold, and by then I was starving. I prayed for help, but then I thought that the Lord probably expected me to correct my own stupid mistakes, and that there was nothing to do but go back to the Abbey. I was on the bus before I realized that I had lost my hat and, more important, the envelope with my money. I was always losing things on that mountain," she said mournfully. "There's an entire meadow full of my wimples up there, I swear it."

He couldn't hold back a chuckle and was cheered when Maria offered him a rueful smile in return.

"I tried to explain it to the driver, that if I could only make my way to the Abbey, they would give me the fare, but of course, I had no proof. To him, I was just a girl in a pink party dress. And so he – he…" she faltered.

"He threw you off the bus."

She nodded. "In Aigen. I remember seeing the bus shelter, and thinking I'd wait out the storm. It was _awfully_ cold out there," she said feelingly. "I started to think again about everything I'd turned my back on when I entered the Abbey. I didn't _want_ to go to Vienna, but I couldn't imagine what I could possibly do instead. The more I worried about the future, the more frightened and confused I became. Just exactly the way Dr. Weiss said it probably happened. The next thing I knew, well," she gestured toward the villa, "you know the rest."

"Yes. I see it now," Georg said. "But you still haven't explained the – ehrm – the other matter."

He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, but he didn't need to. She was eager to unburden herself now, as though she'd been holding it in until he could help make sense of it for her.

When Maria's search for the red dome had led her to the Abbey gate several days earlier, the sisters had been overjoyed, of course, to know that she was safe. They had listened with great interest to her stories about the von Trapp children, life at the villa and, "I might have said a thing or two about you, but I swear, I didn't tell them that you had offered to…" Her pale cheeks turned pink.

"Then today, Reverend Mother asked me even more questions about the children, and you. And then she explained to me that, as soon as she heard I was back, she had gone into seclusion, and prayed all night and all the next day. About _me_ , can you imagine? That's why I wasn't able to see her. And then, she and the other sisters held council, and she said it became clear to them that it was the will of God that I – well, you know. That I m-marry you and be a good mother to the children. I tried to tell her that you would never go along with her plan, but she said the Lord would show you what to do in His own good time."

The last words came out in a rush and she stopped to take a deep breath.

He saw the whole scheme in a moment. Although the good sisters of Nonnberg Abbey _were_ undoubtedly grateful that Maria had turned up safe, nothing had really changed as far as they were concerned. In the girl's confiding chatter about life at the villa, the Mother Abbess had seen her opportunity to solve a problem called Maria. He doubted that God's will had very much to do with it. Nor, apparently did his own acquiescence matter to anyone.

"I am so sorry, Captain. I tried to explain to her that it was impossible, what she was suggesting, but have you ever tried to argue with Reverend Mother?"

To his horror, the words flew from his mouth before he could stop them.

"Never mind that, Maria. I'll do it. I'll marry you."

She stopped short, shocked into silence, and gaped at him as though he were a madman.

"I mean," Georg groped for the right words. "The children need a mother, they love you and you love them, and you _do_ seem to belong here, somehow. And this way, there would be no question of scandal."

"I don't understand," she whispered. "You _want_ us to be married? Are you in love with me?"

Her question made him go cold with fear.

"I don't know," he said sharply. "I don't know!"

His words pierced her heart like an arrow, and Maria scrambled to her feet, backing rapidly away from him. But he was at her side in a moment.

"I'm sorry, Maria. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I _don't_ know," he repeated, more gently this time, and she let him take her hand and lead her back to sit beside him on the bench.

"You must please try to understand, Maria. For a man in my circumstances, I don't think it's possible to fall in love with _anyone_. That kind of thing is behind me, I regret to say. But I _am_ terribly fond of you, and-"

"That's not the same thing," she said flatly.

"Are _you_ in love with _me_?" he shot back.

"I love the children," she said grudgingly.

Maria wasn't going to tell him how handsome and clever she thought he was – she had a feeling he knew that already – nor how he'd haunted her dreams for weeks. But she could admit to this: "And I admire you, Captain. Not only because you were a hero in the war, but also because of how you made things right with the children. Yes," she finished. "I _admire_ you. That's it exactly."

She was the worst liar he'd ever known. "Is that all?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Come, Maria, you can't deny that there has been – ehrm – something happening between us. That morning in the nursery, the dance in the ballroom, the other night in the library. In case you hadn't noticed," he slid an inch or two closer to her, close enough to feel the length of her leg against his, and catch her sweet scent, "I am quite attracted to you-"

She gave a nervous laugh and flew to her feet again.

"It doesn't matter. You can't marry _me_ ," she said.

"Why not?" he smiled. "You can't tell me who to marry!"

"You can't marry someone, when you're in love with someone else." She paused. "Can you?"

"Maria. I told you. My engagement - it's been called off. There's not going to be any baroness. Well, I mean, there will be, I suppose, if you…" he trailed off.

"I'm not talking about Baroness Schrader," she said quietly, moving around the gazebo's perimeter as if she wanted to put space between them. "I'm talking about your wife."

"Agathe?" The smile slid from his face. "At one time you accused me of running from her memory, and now you think I am still in love with her?" Georg broke off abruptly and shook his head. "I mean, I _am_ still in love with her! Look, I tried to explain it to you, Maria. I will marry you, and I will do my best to be a good husband to you, but I don't think I can-"

"I don't think I can either, Captain. Marry someone who doesn't even lo-"

"Well, then. The offer of the cottage is still open, if you would prefer. With no – ehrm – strings."

"Absolutely out of the question. I don't want to leave the children," she said stubbornly.

He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "Those are your choices. The cottage, or stay here and marry me."

Maria bit her lip and looked longingly toward the door of the gazebo, as though she wanted to flee, but lacked the courage. After a long moment, she sighed.

"I don't have a choice, then," she said sadly. "I'll marry you, Captain."

"Not the most romantic acceptance I might have imagined," he said wryly. "I'll try not to take it personally. Then again, the proposal wasn't my idea in the first place. You might consider using my actual name, though. If that's not moving too fast for you."

"I'm sorry. It's just going to take some getting used to."

"Well, you're going to have a chance to get used to it," Georg said, "because tomorrow morning, I am going to have to leave again."

"No!" she burst out. "I want you to stay!" Although she was not at _all_ certain this marriage thing was a good idea, still, it was disappointing and worrisome, his leaving so soon. Undoubtedly, once they were apart, it wouldn't take long for him to realize the terrible mistake he had made by agreeing to marry her.

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I mean, I _ask_ you to stay. Not for me, but for the children," she pleaded. "You're never home long enough for them. Why do you have to leave again?"

"I can't stay here," he explained. "People will talk. They're probably already talking."

"For how long?"

"Long enough so that, when the time comes, people will know we didn't have to get married."

Her brow wrinkled in innocent confusion. "I don't understand."

He opened his mouth to explain things and then thought the better of it. "It will all make sense to you after a while. I should think it will be a month, at least. Two would be better."

She took a deep breath. "Are you going to Vienna?"

"No, Maria," he said gently. "I am not going to see Elsa, if that's what you're suggesting. That is all behind me now. I intend to honor our marriage vows, even if this hasn't been the most conventional - ehrm - courtship." The very use of the last word elicited a grim chuckle. "I'm not sure where I'll go, actually. You'll be able to reach me through my solicitor if you or the children need me."

She nodded and smoothed some invisible wrinkles from her skirts. "Well, then, it appears to be all settled, Captain," she said, sounding relieved, before scurrying the rest of the way across the gazebo. She was halfway out the door when he rose, and in a few long strides, caught up with her.

"Maria? I am not finished yet. For one thing, what do I have to do to get you to call me by my name? And for another," Georg put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him, only to be stopped dead by the look on her face.

"You are _still_ afraid of me?" he nearly begged. "I just agreed to _marry_ you! Surely you don't think I'm going to put you back out on the street."

"Of course not. I know that. And I'm _not_ afraid of you."

But he could see the rapid beat of her pulse at the base of her throat, could almost feel her shrink from his touch.

"Maria. If I'm going to be your husband, you've got to learn to trust me."

She wrapped her arms around herself, making a neat, defensive little package, and kept her eyes fixed on her feet. "All right. It's just that - if we get married, then of course you'll want me to – I mean, it's perfectly fair for you to expect us to-"

She stopped and looked up at him pleadingly.

"Lie together?"

Cheeks flaming, she managed a nod.

"I'm not going to force myself on you," Georg said tightly, "if that's what you're worried about. I promise. Nothing will happen without your consent. Am I too old for you? Is that it?"

"Oh, no," and her eyes went wide. "It's not that at _all_. It's the things you say, and do, when we're alone. The way I feel. No, the way you _make_ me feel. Like I've lost hold of myself and I'm slipping away, falling and falling, with nothing to grab onto, nothing to catch me. If it's anything like that, I don't think I'm going to like it."

The most curious expression came over his face, a mixture of amusement, affection and tenderness, but his blue eyes gleamed with something dangerous.

"Don't laugh at me," Maria flared.

"I am most definitely not laughing at you. I am amazed that someone so innocent captured it so well in words." He brought his face close to hers until their foreheads touched. Purely by instinct, she raised her hands to his chest, intending to push him away, but he captured them with his own and held them still.

"You're going about it all wrong. The next time you feel that way, what you need to do is hold onto me. Like this." He lifted her hands to his shoulders and fixed them there. "And _I_ will hold onto _you_ ," he slid his hands down to circle her waist. "And then," he said in a rough whisper, "we will fall _together._ "

She couldn't look away from that mesmerizing gaze.

"Would you like that, Maria?"

A tiny, nearly imperceptible nod, but it was permission enough. He caught her by the chin and brought her face to his, giving her one last chance to pull away before pressing his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. A kiss as light as a feather, as soft as a cloud. She had barely responded when he pulled away.

"Just so you know," Georg said quickly, with a half-smile, "I'm an honorable man, but not a patient one, and I'm _definitely_ not a saint. I promised I wouldn't force you, but fair warning: I _will_ try to change your mind."

Before Maria could form the question in her mind – _how,_ exactly, was he going to do that?– he walked past her, out of the gazebo and toward the villa, whistling the whole way.

His mood was unaccountably light for a man in an absurd situation. The only wife he really wanted, he'd lost forever. Only very recently had he even allowed himself the comfort of Agathe's memory; how could simply turn away from that and give his heart to someone else? Yet he seemed to have been talking of marriage left and right, calling off one engagement and promising to marry someone else in the space of a few days.

He shook his head at the irony: with Elsa, the promise of no messy emotional entanglement hadn't been enough to lure him into her bed, while- there was no point in denying it – he was so hungry for Maria that he was foolishly overlooking her obvious feelings for him. Maria wanted his heart, which he would never be able to give her. He wanted her body, a prospect she viewed with understandable ambivalence.

Maria. His vexing little governess. Perhaps he _did_ love her after all. Either that, or he was insane: although he wanted her desperately, somehow, he had agreed to a chaste marriage, if that was her wish. He wouldn't even be able to entice her into bed with the promise of children, not when he'd already given her seven of them.

Yet he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. Twenty years ago, when he'd wanted a woman in his bed, he'd always gotten his way. True, when that woman was Agathe, he'd traded his freedom for the chance to possess her, and he'd been glad to do it. Somehow, tonight, he'd given Maria a piece of himself, but this time, nothing had been promised in return. Still, there had been _something_ about that fleeting kiss that held out the promise of success. Perhaps it was the look on her face just afterward. Perhaps it was the tremor he felt run through her for the merest fraction of a moment.

Georg wasn't sure exactly how to go about it, but he knew he could change her mind.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Is Georg a dog? Be patient with him, I implore you. And yes, there's quite a lot here that was inspired by a scene in the Story of the Trapp Family Singers, except I badly twisted the context (poor RM! What a devious schemer I've made her!) Also I got some bits from Maria's memoir, including that line, "All my happiness…" To my reviewer FM, whom I couldn't reply to privately, yes, exactly, I was thinking of Princess Yvonne when I wrote the Elsa scene, and please be assured that like every author, I read every single review avidly, and reply when the reviewer allows it. To the rest of you: I have never gotten such thoughtful, interesting reviews, nor had such provocative PM exchanges afterward. Thank you! Lots more fun ahead (the next chapter is one of my favorites)! I don't own TSOM or anything about it, it's all for love.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Maria's troubles began with that kiss.

Her mind returned again and again to the kiss they'd shared, which had been over before she'd realized it was happening, leaving her with only a hazy, uncertain impression of the whole experience. How could such a formidable and powerful man have had such a light, gentle touch? How could his mouth, which she'd so often seen turn thin and severe with stern disapproval, have felt so soft, so luxurious?

And afterward, he'd broken away from her so quickly, _too_ quickly, before she'd even had a chance to respond. Had she done something wrong? She was mortified at the idea that her relative inexperience might have put him off. "Innocent as a rose," she scoffed at herself, disgusted. It was a shame, because she _was_ shy, but she was curious about things, too, and would have liked to learn more about what was supposed to happen next.

For the rest of that evening, he'd seemed awfully amused, and he didn't try to kiss her again, or even hold her hand, before leaving the next morning. Of course, there wasn't much opportunity for anything like that. They'd agreed not to tell the children about their plan until they'd had a chance to get used to the idea themselves. It had all happened so fast! They were going to be _married_. Maria only hoped that, wherever it was he'd gone off to, he wasn't having second thoughts. For her part, she wasn't thinking about much else.

It might have been easier if the children _had_ known of her arrangement with their father, because it was almost impossible for Maria to act as though nothing had changed.

"How long will Father be gone this time?" Gretl asked wistfully at dinner the very first night.

"A month or two, darling. But we'll write him every week, and he will write us when he can. Of course we all miss him-"

"It's not the same thing for you," Brigitta informed her severely. "He _loves_ us."

As though Maria needed reminding.

"Why don't we ever get to see the Baroness?" Marta broke in.

"Why would she want to see you?" Friedrich jeered.

 _CRASH!_

The conversation was halted by the clatter of Maria's heavy, ornate fork hitting the porcelain plate that lay before her.

"Your father is not in Vienna," she said faintly. "I don't know exactly where he is, but he is _not_ in Vienna." She felt the older children's eyes on her, puzzled, and she forced herself to pick up her fork and return to her dinner.

Yes, it was _definitely_ a challenge, keeping their secret from the children. It wasn't any easier around the staff, who kept up a lively stream of gossip about when – not whether, but when – Captain von Trapp would marry Baroness Schrader.

With the older children back in school and only Gretl to supervise during the day, Maria had time on her hands. She did her best to keep busy, but somehow, every day, every conversation, everything she did, led her thoughts back to her Captain.

One afternoon, she wandered into the kitchen, hoping to be of some help to Millie the laundress, a perpetually flustered woman of advanced years, who was easily overwhelmed by the household's demands.

But not today. "Oh, thank you, Maria," Millie said calmly, "but everything is in order for the moment. The children's laundry is already done. And this is the last of the Captain's until he returns from his trip." She gestured to a basket of neatly folded shirts that lay at her feet. "With him away, there's much less work for me, you see."

"How can that be?" Maria laughed. "He is only one person!"

"Yes," the laundress said, "but one person who wants clean sheets on his bed every night, and at least three starched shirts daily."

"Millie," Frau Schmidt interrupted disapprovingly. "That's not the type of gossip we encourage around here. And you know perfectly well," she said, more confidingly, "that the man feels he's entitled to his comfort, after all those years underwater in submarines. The dirt, the smells," the housekeeper shuddered. "No wonder he can't abide disorder in any form."

Millie nodded. "True enough, that. Well. Time for me to get upstairs and put these things away."

Maria leapt to her feet. "Please, Millie. Let me help you. I have plenty of time, with the children gone," and before her suggestion could be rejected, she had the basket of shirts in her arms and was speeding up the back stairs, to the Captain's suite. When she pushed open the big double doors, she felt a flicker of guilt about snooping where she didn't belong, but then she reminded herself that – although she could hardly believe it - these were going to be _her_ rooms, too. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

Her hands were trembling as she threw open the wardrobe, which looked exactly as she might have imagined it: orderly rows of bright-white shirts; suits hanging neatly; other clothing arranged with military precision. She was putting away the last of the shirts when the sleeve of a jacket brushed against her cheek, flooding her with memories – memories of two times he had opened his arms to her, when she'd found comfort in his embrace. Instinctively, she buried her face in one of the shirts, but all she got in return was the fresh, crisp scent of starch. It didn't smell like him at all.

With a nervous glance over her shoulder toward the empty hallway, Maria surveyed the neat shelves of clothing, until her eyes fell on a worn blue jumper, the exact color of his dark eyes, in the softest wool she'd ever felt. She closed her eyes and held the garment to her cheek, breathing it in, and for a moment it was as though she was back in his arms again. Then, shocked at her own mortifying behavior, she tucked the jumper under her apron and stole across the house to her room, where she stashed her loot under the bed.

Maria had a secret. The night before her disastrous return to the Abbey, he'd helped her upstairs and stayed with her so she would sleep. But the truth was she _hadn't_ slept at all, not for a moment. Instead, she'd lain as still as possible, absorbing everything she could about the strange new experience of lying next to another person, to _him_. In the middle of the night, without even awakening, he had reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She tensed, waiting to see what would happen next. But after a while, she relaxed against him, listening to the steady, reassuring thrum of his heart, until it was time for her to rise, quietly, dress, and depart for the Abbey.

Now, every night, while she waited for her new life to start, Maria slipped into bed, tucked the blue jumper under her pillow, and tried to fall asleep, all the while trying to imagine a future in which that remarkable experience might become a routine nightly occurrence.

And then there was that kiss. What _was_ it about that kiss, anyway? It wasn't like she'd never been kissed before, after all. But in Maria's experience, any time a man kissed you, he immediately followed up with fumbled apologies that made you feel wicked, sad and guilty, even though the kiss hadn't been your idea in the first place.

Captain von Trapp – _Georg_ , she reminded herself – not only hadn't apologized for kissing her, but afterward, he'd behaved as though the two of them shared a delicious secret. He'd made her feel wild and brave and _important._ No, he wasn't like any man she'd ever known, not Klaus or Kurt or anyone. Her Captain seemed to have come from an entirely different species.

She found any excuse to spend time in the library, not only for its comforting smells of books, leather and wood, but also for the heady memory of the first time he'd held her in his arms. One afternoon, she settled Gretl at the big library table with some exercises, and began hunting for science books for Friedrich. But the next thing she knew, she found herself revisiting the English-language shelf, and more specifically, the romance novel that had belonged to the Baroness von Trapp. The volume was easily spotted with its colorful binding. Maria flipped through the pages, hungry for something, but of course, the words were just a jumble to her. Then the book fell open to an illustrated plate.

A handsome, light-haired man in evening clothes bent over a woman wearing a low-cut, sweeping ball gown. Maria's eyes lingered on the image: the dark column of his pant leg tangling in the woman's skirts, and his big hand splayed across her back. The couple wasn't kissing, though; rather, the man's face was buried in the woman's voluptuous bosom, which threatened at any moment to overflow her bodice. Maria glanced down at her own neat shirtwaist, shook her head, and turned to the next illustration.

This one was more like it. The couple was nearly reclining on a large sofa very much like the one right here in the library, and they were kissing – not a decorous brush of the lips, but one forceful enough to have arched the woman's body against his, while her hands tangled in his smooth dark hair. Maria could almost feel his weight on her, and the silken slide of his hair through her fingers.

That night, she went to bed early, so unaccountably exhausted she could barely complete her usual routine: washing her face, brushing her teeth, saying her prayers, and tucking the worn blue jumper under her pillow before turning out the light. She'd only been asleep for a few restless hours when she woke to find her face burrowed in the soft wool, and her fingers where they shouldn't be, soothing an unfamiliar ache.

Turning on the light and slipping out of bed, she studied her face in the mirror.

"Hello? Where are you? Where have you gone?" Maria whispered to the girl in the mirror, the girl who had entered Nonnberg Abbey with a heart full of the purest love imaginable, only to have that love rejected and her hopes dashed.

What was she _thinking,_ risking her heart again? Her Captain _had_ offered her a sensible option: the protection of marriage without the passion. It was an offer she knew she ought to accept, but would not, even though she knew better: hadn't he warned her that he would never be able to return her love? No, he would continue to grieve for his wife, while Maria would find it more difficult with each passing day to hold her growing feelings for him in check.

But there was something Maria feared even more than a broken heart: regret. Regret that might only grow stronger with the passage of months and years spent in a marriage of convenience. Regret for having chosen the sensible option, made the safe, prudent, and mature choice, but at the price of denying herself something she barely understood, and craved nonetheless. The truth was – the certain, shameful knowledge she carried within her, an unquenchable flame that burned brighter every day – that she _wanted_ him. Desperately. Enough to risk her heart.

Leaning closer to the mirror, she held her fingers to her lips as she practiced saying his name aloud:

"Georg. Georg. _Georg_."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He'd left Salzburg without a plan, at least none he was ready to admit to. He passed the first three weeks sailing aimlessly around the Adriatic, mooring overnight on tiny, uninhabited islands, eating whatever fish he could catch and anything else he could forage, letting the solitude, the warm breezes and bright sun, soothe him. Then, one morning, Georg woke, knowing somehow that it was time, at last, to face his fears. He docked back in Trieste, packed his bags, and purposefully set out on the journey he suspected he'd intended all along.

The first letter didn't reach him until he was leaving Trieste. He briefly regretted the cumbersome arrangement he'd made to correspond through Lenz's office, but he reminded himself that he'd wanted to spare Maria the worries he knew would trouble her if she knew where his wanderings might take him.

The letter itself brought him great pleasure. There was a note from each of the children – Louisa was dancing on toe now, Kurt had begun trumpet lessons, and so on. Then a few lines from Maria, nothing personal, only that she and Cook had planned to make jam, but the children returned from berry-picking with aching stomachs full of berries and nothing left in their baskets. She wrote of the evenings turning cooler and new shoes for the children. He studied her words carefully, as though he might decode some secret message in them, until he heard the whistle shriek, and he had to run for the ferry.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The pale, cadaverous butler was as unflappable as ever. "Good afternoon, Captain," he said coolly, as though it had been hours, rather than years, since Georg had last climbed these steps and rung the doorbell. "Wait here," the man murmured, ushering Georg into the parlor before disappearing.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait more than a few minutes - minutes spent studying the portrait hanging over the fireplace, while memories welled up all around him - before he heard the brisk rush of footsteps in the marble foyer and then there she was.

Tall, silver-haired and violet-eyed, as beautiful as she'd been twenty years ago when they'd first met, even though her face was now deeply lined. Her proud, erect bearing might have seemed intimidating, but any such impression was instantly erased by the warmth of her greeting.

"Georg! What a wonderful surprise! John is out of town, and he will be devastated to know he missed you." She kissed him lightly on both cheeks and gave his shoulders a squeeze. "What brings you to London? Are the children with you?"

"No. No, I'm here on business," he said, though this visit was, in fact, the only business he had in London. "I should have called first, Mathilde, I know, but it was a bit of an impulse."

"Don't be silly. I love our visits to Salzburg, but they're a bit frantic, aren't they, with the children running about? I'm thrilled to have you all to myself here in London for a change! Let me ring for tea," she said.

While she busied herself so, he turned back to the portrait. After everything that had happened this summer, he shouldn't have been surprised, but he was, nonetheless: that portrait invoked no stabbing grief, no fury, no despair. There was sadness, certainly, but also the warmth of remembered pride, excitement and joyful anticipation. It was in this very room that he'd wooed her, relinquishing his bachelor's life without a moment's regret, waiting long, patient weeks before attempting a kiss, though he thought he'd die of frustrated desire for her. He could practically taste that first, sweet kiss, so delightful that it had erased the pain of his broken arm.

"My darling Agathe. She will always be my little girl." Mathilde's voice broke into his thoughts. "So lovely, although no portrait can really capture her inner beauty, can it? I miss her so," the older woman said with a shake of her head. Georg had spent so many months and years avoiding the subject of Agathe that he was at a loss for a reply to this remark, but his mother-in-law saved him with a deft, "Now, Georg, come have a cup of tea, and tell me all about the children."

They spent a pleasant half-hour on that subject. "I had a whole packet of letters from them recently," Mathilde reported. "You are managing so well, Georg, and after all that trouble holding on to a governess, too! And you look content. Settled. Happy."

"Y-yes," he fumbled. "It would seem so, but-"

"You know," Mathilde went on, "when I saw you standing here, waiting for me, for just a moment, I couldn't help hoping that you were here with news. Good news."

"I don't understand."

"We've heard the gossip from our friends who were posted to Vienna. About you and Elsa Schrader. John and I were hoping that - well, Georg, you know what I've always said. Governesses are all well and good, but the children need a mother. I don't know this Baroness Schrader, but if you love her, I know we'll love her too."

He winced, envying other men, who did not have to contend with a mother in law who was constantly pressing them to marry. "I'm sorry, Mathilde. But your sources are outdated, I'm afraid. Elsa and I had an understanding of sorts, yes, but we called it off."

"I'm sorry, Georg. Are you terribly disappointed? Did you love her?"

""Elsa? What the hell does that have to do with it?" he snapped, before quickly mumbling an apology.

Mathilde raised an eyebrow and studied him for only a moment before announcing, triumphantly, "Aha! Because you found someone else! Someone you _are_ in love with. Tell the truth."

"No!" he blurted, and then, "I don't know." Exactly what he'd told Maria. "It doesn't seem possible, you know…"

"How long, Georg?"

"It's been four years, Mathilde, surely you know that. Four years and three months."

"That's not what I meant. How long are you going to punish yourself? And your children? Not that Agathe's death was anyone's fault. But denying yourself any happiness is not going to bring her back. And she would not want you to-"

"Spare me the clichés, Mathilde," he said, trying to keep his tone light. After all, she'd been nothing but kind and generous to him, and Agathe had been her loss as well. "I've heard them all. Nothing can bring her back, so why not get on with life? She'd want me to be happy. Am I missing any?"

The older woman's dark eyes suddenly clouded over with grief. She rose and went to look out the window, where only a few traces of late-summer color lingered in the garden, before speaking in a low, controlled voice.

"There is no loss - _none_ , do you hear me, not even in the silly wars you men love to fight- no loss worse than burying a child. There's your missing cliché, Georg. It is still a struggle for John and me, every day. So believe me, I understand. But I – I am an old woman. You have decades still ahead of you. Of course you will always have Agathe, Georg, in your heart, and in your children. But is that really enough?"

"You of all people, Mathilde." he grated. "Are you telling me to simply replace her?"

She crossed the room to where he sat, and put her hand gently on his shoulder. "Georg. Just because you've fallen in love with another woman, doesn't mean you loved Agathe less."

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. It was a mistake to have come. What had he expected?

As though she could read his mind, Mathilde said gently, "Tell me. Why did you come here, Georg? If you came for my permission, you have it. If you came for Agathe's … she is not here anymore, dear heart."

Why _had_ he come? To learn how his in-laws had managed to get on with their lives despite the portrait staring down on them every day? To be talked out of another marriage? Or into it? He was beginning to understand that matters of the heart were far more complicated than any military strategy. Avoiding Agathe's memory these past years had been difficult, but now that he had acknowledged and drawn comfort from it, living _with_ her memory was a far greater challenge. There was no easy solution to his dilemma. On the other hand, was there any battle worth winning that didn't require a fight?

The next day, he left for Paris.

It had been eighteen years since their honeymoon, and as he'd told Elsa, he hadn't been there since. It was a very long time, but he could still feel the tug of Agathe's arm on his, and hear her chattering away in perfect French. Her French had always been better than his, which had irritated him no end. If Maria were here with him, she would need him to translate everything.

Where had that thought come from?

He paced the streets, wandered through the museums, strolled through the parks, lingered in cafes. Everywhere he went, he caught memories like fragile bubbles, considering each one gently before letting it float away. There were moments when a dark swell of emotion threatened to overtake him, to drag him under, but then there would be a memory – sparked by a glint of sunshine, a young woman's laughter, the colorful autumn foliage - that bore him through the worst of it.

If the days in Paris were devoted to Agathe's memory, the nights, apparently, belonged to Maria. He had no say in the matter: somehow, his mind had taken a very few impressions – the glimpse of her long legs when they'd danced, the accidental press of her round breast against his hand the day he'd first sung for her in the nursery – and assembled from them a lissome young woman who haunted his dreams. Georg awakened from those dreams sweating with shame and desire, but secretly grateful for even the temporary illusion that his craving for her could be satisfied.

He'd been in Paris for a week when another letter reached him. This one began with Maria's update: She had had it out with the headmaster, and Brigitta would, indeed, be allowed to study with a biology tutor, while Friedrich was moved up a level in mathematics. He felt a smile crease his face at the thought of the school's administrators, reeling in the aftermath of a sound defeat at the hands of his determined little governess – his fiancée, he corrected himself.

Once again, there was a brief note from each child, winding up with Gretl's message marching determinedly uphill: "I LOVE YOU FATHER." Her scrawl was so exuberant that he almost missed the faint postscript in Maria's hand:

"When will you be returning home?"

Just six words, pencil on paper, but Georg could have sworn he heard the yearning in her voice. Or maybe he just wanted to hear it. Either way, he was on the next train to Salzburg.

Hours later, though, when his train pulled into the Salzburg station, he asked the taxi driver to make a stop before dropping him at the villa. He noted with satisfaction that everything was just as it should be, the urn of white roses, the green plants, the polished headstone. He'd visited here only once or twice, very early on, but he found no comfort in it and hadn't returned in years. This place had been nothing but a painful reminder of everything he'd lost. An advertisement for avoiding her memory, and for encouraging the children to do the same.

Now, Georg shook his head at the very idea: what a foolish, doomed endeavor it had been for the last four years, to try and forget his first love! In the end, Agathe, as always, had known exactly what to do. She had found herself a place to rest easily, nestled comfortably somewhere deep in his heart, where she could stay forever.

Mathilde had asked him the reason for his visit to London. Minutes away from his journey's end, he _still_ didn't really know the answer to her question.

But he did know this: something had loosened within, like a sailor's knot come undone, so that the sail could easily fill with wind, and guide him home.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Thank you very much for reading my story. And for your kind and interesting reviews and PMs.**

 **Thank you to callumrogers7, whose review drew a parallel between Maria's rejection from Nonnberg and her fear of rejection by Georg. I hadn't thought of it that way, and happily used the idea in this chapter.**

 **This past summer, I spent a blissful couple of days sailing among small islands in the Adriatic, though there was nothing remotely resembling solitude involved, and it made me so happy to revisit those memories.**

 **I'm in the worst of my work-crunch, so it may be a few weeks, but your words of support will definitely inspire me to power through and get back to this story. Warning: the next chapter will be very long. I could try and split it but I don't think it would work. So when, at long last, you see the update, make yourself a cup of tea and settle in.**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

He arrived home just before dinner, to a house fallen strangely still and silent. The children had a new routine, Frau Schmidt told him, taking an early supper in the nursery and then occupying themselves with homework and games until bedtime. "They said that dinner time just wasn't the same while you were away," she explained.

Meanwhile, Fraulein Maria had taken to solitary walks along the lake in the evenings, often stopping to linger in the old gazebo. "I'm worried about her," the housekeeper shook her head. "She seems happy to be back here, but she's unhappy, too."

The report unnerved him. He didn't seek the children out, but went instead to stand on the balcony and gather his thoughts. Suddenly, he caught sight of Maria, wandering along the lake's edge, wraithlike in the soft light of early evening.

She wore blue, the airy blue of a summer sky, a simple dress with little detail or adornment, so light she seemed to float along the shore. She looked utterly delicious, a French macaron come to life. His eyes followed her until she disappeared on the path to the gazebo, and he set out to find her, his heart racing like a nervous schoolboy's. When he found her, it was a struggle to keep his voice light.

"I thought I just might find you here!"

Maria _had_ been thinking of him, nothing _but_ him, longing so intensely for his return, that when she heard his voice from behind her, she thought she might have conjured him up in her imagination. But when she turned, he was standing in the doorway of the gazebo, looking unbearably handsome in a dark suit.

She felt his eyes on her, as tangible as a caress on her bare skin, but he made no move in her direction. Instead, in an elegant, deliberate gesture, he lifted one hand to his heart.

Whatever Georg had expected, he wasn't prepared for her elated squeal, or the joy that lit up her face as she launched herself at him, winding her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. His arms tightened automatically around her, but this time there were no tears, just the welcome feel of her body molded against his. Everything was different, it seemed, but he didn't know why.

"Hold on," he laughed, setting her away from him, but not too far away. This must be the first time that he had seen her wearing anything but his daughter's castoff clothing, he realized. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Do you like it?" she asked, gesturing hopefully at the dress. "I got tired of Liesl's hand-me-downs, so I made it from the drapes that used to hang in-"

"Drapes? My prospective bride has been roaming around Salzburg dressed in some old drapes?" but his face must have given himself away, because she broke into a smile.

"You _do_ like it."

"Yes, I do, but what I meant is that you've gotten" he gestured, his hands tracing a shape in the air, "you are all skin and bones. Have you stopped eating dessert?"

"I haven't been eating well. Or sleeping," she confessed. "Everything was all wrong while you were away. Oh, I have so much to tell you! Aren't you going to tell me where you went?"

"I'll tell you all about that later. Right now, we've got to-" but then he faltered. What had to be said between them was so enormous, so momentous, that he could not even imagine how to start.

"Start at the very beginning," she was always telling the children, and that, as it turned out, was exactly what he wanted to do, although he hadn't realized it until this moment, and surprised the both of them with what he said next.

"Maria. Why were you at Nonnberg in the first place? How did you ever think you were meant to be a _nun_?"

" _That's_ the first thing you want to-" she caught herself and shrugged. Maria hadn't expected to have _this_ conversation now, but perhaps it was as good a place as any to begin.

He seated himself on the bench that ringed the gazebo, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and watched her wander aimlessly around the gazebo as she recounted her story. Outside the walls of the gazebo, night slipped into evening's place, turning the woods around them dark and forbidding, silencing the birds and buzzing insects so that only the murmur of the lake could be heard. But inside, there was only the two of them, two hearts brimming with anticipation, hope, desire, and not a little fear.

"I was only eight years old when my parents were killed in an accident, and I was sent to live with my mother's half-brother. Uncle Kurt was quite elderly," she stopped and looked apologetically at him – "well, he probably was only about fifty, but at the time he seemed quite old to me. He was round and jolly, and the kindest soul you can imagine. Dear Uncle! He'd been living an uncomplicated, peaceful life, surrounded by books and music and friends. His only experience with children was dispensing peppermint drops to them. He _loved_ peppermints. Anyway, there he was, suddenly responsible for this unruly child. I was positively wretched with grief. And from the very first day," Maria stopped to stab the air with a finger, as though to underscore her point, "he was utterly devoted to me. There was _nothing_ Uncle Kurt wouldn't have done to keep me safe and happy."

So he'd had it wrong. Somehow, Georg had always imagined her the victim of a wicked, miserable childhood, that there was some dreadful secret lurking in her past, something that had driven her into the Abbey. No secrets there, as it turned out.

As if she read his mind, she looked down at her feet, clearly embarrassed. "There _was_ this one thing, though, that was – ehrm – _unusual_ about Uncle Kurt."

"Yes?" Now he was intrigued.

"He was an atheist."

"I'm sorry?"

"He wasn't mean or angry about it, he just didn't believe. When I went to live with him, I had only just made my first Communion, and my faith had not really taken root, and of course I was completely devoted to him, and so, well, that was it." Maria shrugged. "Everything my parents had taught me slipped away, and I didn't set foot in a church for ten years after that."

"What brought you back?"

"Just as I was finishing high school," her voice wavered, and he could see her hands tremble, "Uncle Kurt fell ill. As his health worsened, he became obsessed with securing my future. Although there wasn't much money, he'd set aside enough for me to go to teachers' college. I had always adored children, of course, so I loved my studies right from the start. I fell in with a lovely crowd of friends, too. They were churchgoers, so I started to go with them, but only in a casual way at first, really. That group of friends - it got me through at the start of my second year, when Uncle …" her voice seized up then, and she sent him a pleading look until he beckoned her to his side.

Maria went to him immediately, and he took her soft hand in between his two, and waited for her to continue.

After a while, she cleared her throat and went on. "The week after graduation, our group went on a camping trip together. We hiked far up into the mountains, to where the glaciers lie. One evening, I went off with," she paused and sent a wary look his way, "a boy."

"So there _was_ a boy, after all." Georg said coolly. Not that it mattered, of course. After all, how many women were there in his past?

"Klaus," she smiled. "He was tall, but he was always hunched over, so that he looked like a comma, you know, that way tall people do sometimes? _You_ don't do that. And he wore glasses."

He tugged at his ear. "Were you in love with him?""

She shrugged his question away. "Everything I knew about love came from Goethe and Schiller and Shakespeare. It always ended badly, in blood and death. I mean, I _did_ think that I might like to marry, you know, and have children, but love? " she shook her head. "No. Although," she confessed, "I was _very_ -" he saw the color blossom in her cheeks as she shifted uneasily in her seat next to him, searching for the word.

"Curious?" Georg supplied. In some remote corner of his mind, the promising notion of his innocent, curious little Fraulein stirred him deeply, but he pushed the impulse away. Not yet.

"Yes, exactly. I had let him kiss me once or twice," she admitted. There was something in his face that stopped her. "When you – when we - you didn't think that was my first kiss, did you?" She wasn't ready to admit to her Captain just how deeply his kiss had affected her.

"I didn't give it much thought either way," he shrugged, pretending disinterest. It didn't matter, really, because he was damned well going to be the first for everything else. "You were telling me about Nonnberg."

"Oh! Yes! Well, up on that glacier. There was a magnificent sunset. Glorious. I thought I would explode from the joy of it. The sky was red and violet and the whole world looked," – she rose to her feet, as though in a trance, and spun in slow circles around the gazebo, arms flung out wide – "like a gift from God." Her lovely face was transcendent.

"While I was still grieving for Uncle Kurt, I was also overwhelmed with gratitude that God had provided for me, by finding me shelter with someone who had loved me so faithfully. That sunset," she struggled for the words, "it was like a _reminder_. Of a debt I would never be able to repay. I know it must seem sort of grand, to talk about my life that way," she said apologetically.

"No, no," he reassured her, beckoning her to sit by his side again. This was the heart of her, he thought, something far more intimate than a kiss or even a tumble in bed, something even more fundamental than her name, or all the memories she had lost when they first met. He was quite certain Maria had never shown this side of herself to anyone before.

"Klaus was going on and on about something, but I didn't hear a word he said. It was my moment of truth. I was inspired to do _something_ – something good, something _big_ , to demonstrate my gratitude and devotion, not only to Uncle Kurt, but to God. So I decided, at that moment, that I would dedicate my life to God's service. I would give up teaching, and my love of the outdoors, and my hopes for a husband and a family. The next morning, I hiked off the mountain to Salzburg and presented myself at the gates of Nonnberg Abbey.

"Why Nonnberg?"

"Because if I was going to do it, I was going to do it without half measures. Everyone knows they are the most devoted, the most pious, the most strict. When I arrived, I asked to speak to the boss," she laughed, "there I was, in my hiking boots, with an icepick in one hand and a rope coiled over my shoulder. They didn't know what to make of me, but they took me in, and although I was nothing but trouble, they let me keep working with the children, and I began to learn, and pray and try. Oh, and I _did_ try!"

Her head dropped to his shoulder, and he draped a comforting arm around her.

"They must have known from the start that it was not the life I was born to live, but when after two years I'd failed to realize it, I suppose they lost patience."

This young woman, with a heart as big as a sky, had the most extravagant gesture of love she could imagine, thrown back in her face. No wonder she'd been so completely devastated by their rejection, so much so that her mind was wiped clean of the past.

"So you see," she told him, "I had been on a path that would have made me perfectly happy, but I just couldn't let myself deserve it. I had to choose the difficult path instead. It made no sense, of course."

"No," Georg said slowly, "but I think I know exactly how you might have felt."

To his surprise, she slipped out from beneath his arm and stood, moving a little ways away before turning to fix her clear, direct gaze on him.

"That's why I'm not going to marry you."

His eyebrows flew upward. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I'm not going to marry you. I'm not letting you make the same mistake I did. Making a meaningless sacrifice because it seems like the noble thing to do."

"Don't be ridiculous, Maria. You see, I've been thinking about it, also, and I -"

"Is that what you want?" she interrupted him. "To wake up every day of your life, for as long as you live, knowing you're married to someone you don't even love?"

Had he just imagined her exuberant cries of welcome, her soft arms around his neck? "But just now, the way you-"

"I didn't say," her cheeks turned pink again, "that I didn't want-" She took a deep breath and studied the floor. "I've decided to accept your offer. I'm going to go live in your cottage. As long as I can see the children regularly. And you," her face was flaming red by now, " _you_ could visit me too. Alone, I mean. If you want."

Georg gaped at her, slack-jawed, for a long minute before he could compose himself enough to reply.

"I'm sorry, Maria. That's not possible. I'm afraid that the offer of the cottage is revoked. Rescinded."

Her brow wrinkled. "I don't understand. Why? What happened?"

"If you will let me finish even one sentence, I'll try to explain. I want you to stay here. I - ehrm - beg you to stay, actually. Because I'm in love with you."

It was an indescribable relief to say it out loud at last. But she simply stared at him as though she had not understood the plain meaning of his words.

"You'll marry me," he began again.

"I told you," she said stubbornly. "I won't have you marry me out of pity. And I don't want to marry someone who doesn't even love me."

"But I do," he said quietly. "Love you, I mean."

She must have understood him this time, because she went utterly still. He came up close to her and gathered her hands together, pinning them to his heart. " _I love you_ , Maria." Georg said it slowly, deliberately, so there could be no mistaking his meaning.

"But you told me-"

"I was wrong. It happens, although only very rarely."

She felt one strong arm slide around her waist. He lifted his other hand to her face, his fingers brushing the hair off her forehead, trailing across her cheek, tracing her lips.

Maria yearned to press closer to him, to lose herself in the familiar, solid feel of his body. A shiver went through her, anticipating the exquisite relief his kiss would bring, after a wait that had been a matter of weeks, though it felt like years. Yet from somewhere deep inside, she could still hear the doubts and questions shouting at her.

"Wait," she whispered. "I'm not sure I'm ready-"

"Oh, yes, you are," he murmured, drawing her closer.

She pushed at him with a frustrated whimper. "But you haven't explained – I need to know what _happened_? Where you went. Why you changed your-?

"All right," he smiled, hands flying up in the air. "Come, sit with me and I'll tell you about my trip." He led her back to the bench and took her hand between both of his. It might take hours to explain it to her, but he didn't care, as long as he didn't have to keep his hands off her. _That_ would be impossible.

"Well, first, I went to Trieste. I have a boat there."

"You own a boat?"

"I own two boats, actually. One is a yacht, a long, sleek one for the Mediterranean. But the one I took out on this trip is just a simple little tub with a single sail, and no facilities to speak of. When I was younger, I liked to – well, I hadn't had it out on the water in years. It was stored in Trieste, so I just wandered around the Adriatic for a bit. A trip with no destination, really. I hardly saw another human being for three weeks. Then I went to London. To see my in-laws. And then Paris. I hadn't been there since my honeymoon."

"Why did you?"

He longed to kiss away her frown, which was an adorable mixture of trepidation and curiosity, but there would be time for that later. Instead, he found himself squeezing her hand, as though it was anchoring him in his struggle to explain it all to her. Even in the chaos of battle, Georg had always been able to think ten steps ahead, issuing crisp, clear commands without needing more than a moment to organize his thoughts. Now here he was, muddling through an explanation of something he barely understood himself, yet wanted desperately for her to understand. He could see that, in her innocence, she was looking for the truth in his words, not his actions. There was no other way through it but words, if she was going to learn to trust him.

"It's all your fault, you know. I'd trained myself not to think of her at all, when-" He nearly yelped at the surprisingly sharp pinch she administered to his upper arm; even through jacket and shirt it stung. "What was that for?"

"She had a name," Maria hissed.

"All right. Agathe. I had gotten very good at not thinking about Agathe, avoiding her memory. I was getting along just fine."

She rolled her eyes at his wry smile.

"Then you came along. Reminding me of what we lose when we don't have any memories at all. It turned out that the music was a comfort, and the children were - well, it wasn't so awful after all, letting myself remember her. So, you see, I'd just gotten Agathe back, in a way, but then - oh, hell, I can't make any sense of it myself, not _talking_ about it this way. If you only would let me-"

"Go _on_ ," she prompted, trying not to notice that he'd rested a casual hand on her knee.

"You told me once that people are nothing without their memories. But the problem is, memories alone are not enough. It was damned unsatisfying to love a memory when there you were, Maria, standing there, loving me. A flesh and blood woman, who's courageous, and smart, and beautiful. A woman I wanted so much – the way you looked at me sometimes, I could hardly breathe!"

He hesitated, peering out into the night, as if he could find the right words written in the stars. "I had to go find out for myself," he paused, and then continued slowly, each word a revelation painfully won, "if I was brave enough to leave the memories where they belong. And let myself love you."

Maria frowned. "But when I came here, hadn't you _already_ decided to get married again?" she asked.

"I could have been married to Elsa for fifty years and it would never have felt like a betrayal of Agathe's memory. This – it took me longer to accept. But I've got it worked out now, you see. Agathe will always be in my heart. Along with our children. _And_ you. I want you by my side. All day, and, yes, _especially_ at night. Those last few nights in Paris, I thought I would go out of my mind, I wanted you so much-"

"But – but that's just it!" She tried not to think about his hand gently squeezing her knee. "That came first, didn't it? I mean you _wanted_ me, but you didn't love me."

"Ah. Well, for men," he paused. "It can be hard to tell the difference, sometimes. But if all I had wanted was," he cleared his throat, "that would not have been difficult to find. That kind of thing has nothing to do with what I feel for you."

There was a long silence, and then, very deliberately, he took her hand, turned it palm-up, and began to trail his finger across her palm to her wrist and beyond. With each stroke, he ventured a little higher along the silken-skinned inside of her arm, every caress leaving a trail of fire behind.

"You – you _love_ me," she whispered.

"I do," he said gravely.

"Even though you said - I mean, I thought-" she fumbled. Her heart was beating so fiercely she could hear her pulse in her ears.

"Perhaps you should try _not_ thinking for a change," Georg said slyly, but she persisted.

"You said you'd never be able to - you'd get this look on your face, like you were a million miles away. Like the time you found me in the nursery, playing the Edelweiss song. I wanted to cry, you looked so sad."

To her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed.

"You _would_ have cried, if you'd known what I was thinking. I was thinking about _you_ , you goose. And how you were almost certainly naked under that nightgown. Or nearly so." He stroked his chin in mock deliberation. "And if she has knickers on, are they pink? Or white? Lace? Or plain?"

Every part of her turned hot, and her mouth went dry. How easily he could unsettle her, with just a few words! Now that he'd admitted to loving her, did that mean he wouldn't try to kiss her after all? Or would he - Maria stole a glance at him, and the look he gave her in return sucked the very breath from her lungs and made her feel so weak that she simply collapsed against him, listening to the familiar, reassuring drum of his heart.

It hadn't taken him long to figure out how to get around her defenses. She liked being petted, it turned out, practically vibrating under his touch. And although she would probably never admit it, he could see that she was drawn to his wicked side. He held her close and cupped a gentle hand around the back of her neck, where the skin was damp and warm, and played with the curls he found there, smiling at the shiver of her response. He was beginning to suspect that, convent or no, she might have quite a naughty side of her own.

"I _do_ want you, Maria. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I want you _because_ I'm in love with you, and I will love you until I draw my last breath. And no, I haven't forgotten our agreement. You can have all the time you need. After we're married, I'll take you away, so it's just the two of us, and you'll get used to the idea. Of us, together. I promise you won't regret it."

She should have been put off by his tone – casual confidence bordering on arrogance – but she somehow, she found it reassuring. And anyway, his hand on her neck was so distracting, and her skin so tingled with the memory of his long fingers tickling her palm, that it was impossible to think very clearly about anything. Anything except -

"I-" she blurted, "-I have _already_ been thinking about it, actually." She pulled away and forced herself to look straight at him. "Quite a lot. That's why I was willing to be with you in Vienna, if that was the only way." Maria swallowed her embarrassment, feeling the urgent need to explain herself to him. "When you first asked me, I was afraid I'd regret it, going with a man who said he couldn't love me. But while you were away, I began to think that I would regret it more if I lived my whole life without knowing what it was like to be with a man - no, the _only_ man I could ever-"

Georg studied her flushed face, which held eagerness, anticipation, and very little fear. He was relieved; somehow, his fumbling attempts to explain himself had put her mind at ease. But there was also something about her direct approach and the look on her face that was all at once, artlessly innocent and deeply carnal, and set fire coursing through his veins. He willed away the rising tide, though, and tried to focus on what she was telling him.

"When my memory was lost," she was saying, "I clung to anything I _did_ know about myself. Or thought I did. The music. Being a teacher. I was so _sure_ I wasn't a 'Maria,' or the type of girl to cry buckets." She shot him a rueful smile, and then lapsed into silence, closing her eyes, arching her neck into his palm.

"But even though my memory returned, the old me didn't." Her voice was breathless, dreamy. "Living here changed me. I didn't want to stay at the Abbey anymore. What I wanted was _you_. At first, I didn't want to believe it. I was afraid that if I went with you, I would lose my heart entirely," she finished unsteadily, "but apparently that happened long ago."

"To both of us," he reminded her.

She swayed back against him, humming in wordless agreement.

He couldn't bear it any longer, sitting this close to her, her body supple and relaxed under his hand, her scent surrounding him. He realized that he was the experienced one, and that without some initiative on his part, she might think that they were supposed to exhaust themselves _talking_ about all of it, when more words were the last thing either one of them needed. Now that she was calmer, less skittish of him, he knew _exactly_ what they needed, in fact.

He removed his hand from her neck and rose to his feet, biting back a smile at her barely-discernible whimper of disappointment. "So, you were thinking about it," he said lightly, "being with me, is that right?"

She looked up at him and nodded slowly.

"Can you tell me what you were thinking?"

Her eyes dropped to her lap, and she shook her head, slowly again, side to side.

He extended his hand to pull her to her feet.

"Can you show me, Maria?"

Her blue eyes flew back to his face and grew wide, but she nodded and went into his arms without hesitation. Georg studied her face one last time before bringing his mouth to her ear, his voice low and urgent. "Are you ready to let me love you?"

Her squeak of permission was nearly lost in the onslaught. He plowed his hands into her hair and pulled her to him and then, holding nothing back, his mouth covered hers and he kissed her thoroughly, powerfully, until they were both breathless.

Each kiss made Maria hungrier for the next. Those kisses turned her inside out and upside-down, until the blood sang in her ears and she knew that she'd surely fly straight up into the clouds, or crumble to the floor, without his strong arms around her. _Hold onto me,_ he had told her _, and I'll hold onto you, and we will fall together_ , and so she dug her fingers into his shoulders, wondering at his grunt of pleasure in response. She had just enough presence of mind left to let her fingers wander to the back of his neck, weaving them through his soft hair before giving a gentle tug. Another grunt, and then his hands began to explore and she forgot herself entirely.

He dragged his mouth from hers, exploring her neck until he found a spot behind her ear that made her cry out. Alarmed, he pulled away, loosening his hold on her abruptly. She staggered backward a bit until he caught her around the waist and steadied her.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, she gasped, "I just never-"

"Never what, love?"

"I've _never_ been kissed that way before. Even if I forgot everything all over again, I would _never_ forget that."

"You're not scared of a kiss, are you?" his smile was tender, though there was something dark and predatory in his eyes.

"I think I've finally figured out that your bark is worse than your bite," she declared, and then dissolved in helpless giggles when he bent to bite gently at her neck.

He couldn't get enough of her, the way she trembled and shivered and squirmed in his arms, or the adorable way she tried to carry on a conversation at a time when words were superfluous.

"I – ehrm – I took your advice," she informed him.

"Hm?" She smelled delicious, like lemons and mint and – oh, God - aroused woman.

"You said to hold onto you, so we could fall together."

There was no mistaking the curve of his smile against her neck.

"What? What did I do? What's so funny?"

"I was thinking of something else when I said that," he told her, straightening up, "but never mind that. Look, Maria," he said, more seriously now. "Are you sure? I don't want you to make another choice you'll regret down the road. Your life will be very different now, different from anything you ever imagined."

"Regrets? Other than having to get used to a new name after all? No." She gave him a bewitching smile. "The love between a man and a woman can be holy too, I'm certain of it."

He laughed. "That settles it. Now you just have to decide about the honeymoon. I'll take you anywhere you want to go." He waited for her to choose Paris, because of course what else would she pick? He thought he was brave enough to try it, too. But she surprised him.

"I want to see your boat. The little one."

He shook his head. "No you don't. It's cramped and filthy. And barely big enough for two! The only thing it's good for is the smaller islands, which don't usually have much of a harbor. Traveling with that boat means camping and cooking over fires and sleeping on the ground. Not much of a honeymoon, I'd say."

"I saw the look on your face when you told me that bit. It was your favorite part of your trip, and I know I'll love it the best too," she said firmly. "You can show me the other places another time."

"Wouldn't you rather go somewhere with delicious food and soft beds?" he coaxed. "Like Paris! With history and art and music? Why burn fish over a campfire when you can have all the macarons you can eat?" As he spoke, he slid his hands along the curve of her waist and lower. But then the slender shape of her in his hands made him think of other things: soft sand and hidden sapphire-blue coves. His bride, floating next to him, wearing nothing but freckles, a blush, and a smile.

Before he knew what he was doing, Georg had hauled her against him for another kiss. The roar of his heart in his ears made it impossible to hear the small, stern voice in his head that was trying, without success, to remind him to take things slowly. But it didn't matter. She was hungry for everything he had to give her, her mouth lush and demanding under his, her body fitting to his as though she couldn't possibly get close enough to him.

Maria could feel his hands moving restlessly, everywhere he could reach, as though his very touch branded her, and the heat of his body through his clothes soaked into her skin and shimmered in her veins. By the time he released her, she was fairly sure she'd seen stars, even with her eyes closed against the night sky.

They stood facing each other, gasping for breath, staring at each other in astonished disbelief at what had been unleashed between them.

"Please," she gasped. "D-don't."

"Don't what?" He ran his hands through his hair, eying her with bewilderment, as though, having known her for months, he was just noticing her for the first time.

"Don't apologize."

"Why-" Georg took a deep breath, and managed, "why would I do that?" He was quite certain he hadn't even a wisp of chivalrous instinct left in his possession. Had they not been in a glass building furnished only with narrow stone benches, he'd have had her on her back by now. "I have no intention of apologizing."

She broke into a grin. "That's the kind of thing that makes me love you."

"I thought it was because of the children."

"Not only the children, no."

"Then at least it's my money. Or my good looks."

She rolled her eyes.

"Or because I want you more than I've ever wanted anything and you want me in return? Don't try to deny it, either, darling."

"I do," Maria said shyly, "I do want you, but what I meant to say is only that you - you are so _sure_ about everything. Although it does make you very bossy. You said I would find my memory again, and I did. And now, when you kiss me, I just know everything will turn out fine, you see," and then she paused. "Aren't you going to tell me why _you_ love _me_?"

There was a sudden lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow away. All he could do was draw her close again, and bury his face in the golden silk of her hair, until at last he finally found a few words that were wholly inadequate for the task.

"Oh, my love. My darling girl."

 _This._ This kind of love, so fierce, so precious he could barely speak of it aloud. _This_ was the heart of him, Maria thought. She'd caught glimpses of it from the start, but he'd kept it well hidden behind his keen mind, his intimidating physical presence, even his grief. She was sure of one thing: there was only one other person who'd known him this way, and she was no longer living.

And so they stood in the middle of the old gazebo, clinging to each other, while the lake murmured against the shore. A breeze sprang up, rustling the leaves in the trees around them.

At last, Georg cleared his throat and spoke. "About the honeymoon. Why don't you let me surprise you?" A plan was already forming in his mind.

"Y-yes. You're the one with the experience, after all," she said, and then immediately regretted it. It was going to be awfully complicated, being a second wife. All Maria had meant to say that, as far as she was concerned, if she could have those kisses for breakfast, lunch and dinner, she didn't much care where they went. "How long will it be until – I mean, when can we get married?"

"Today, if possible," he said promptly, and when she laughed, he added, "I am a _very_ powerful man, Maria. I have half a mind to haul the mayor of Salzburg out of bed to do the deed, just to prove it to you. But we ought to have a proper wedding. In the cathedral, with a choir and you in a long white dress, with a veil. And the Archbishop."

"I don't want that kind of wedding," she objected. "I wasn't going to have _any_ kind of wedding until a few hours ago! Can't we just wait until morning and ask the mayor then?"

"But the girls will be so disappointed," he countered. "That's what we ought to do, you know. Why don't we ask the children? We'll let them decide."

"That's ridiculous," Maria said. "It's not the kind of decision to leave to a bunch of children! Although I can't wait to tell them the news. You have no idea how hard it was to keep from them! The older ones will still be awake," and she turned to look back up the hill, at the villa, where a few upstairs windows still glowed with golden light.

"Let's go and see, shall we?" he asked.

His arm curled around her shoulders and drew her close, and her arm went around his waist in return, as naturally as though they'd walked arm-in-arm a thousand times before, and would a thousand times more. The kind of everyday gesture another person would hardly bother to remember.

But Maria didn't take her memories for granted. She thought about how, when she'd come to the villa, she'd lost not only her memories, but the love that came with them: her parents, Uncle Kurt, her friends, her life at Nonnberg. Now her memories had been restored to her, along with love in greater measure than she could ever have dreamed. Ahead of her lay a life with new memories to be made, memories she could not even imagine.

"Ready?" he asked, gently urging her out of the gazebo and toward the villa.

"I'm ready," she said.

Then together they climbed the hill toward home, where their family waited for them.

 **THE END**

 **And, alas, that is the official end of my story! Except it's not, because having learned the hard way how unhappy one's readers can be when I think my story is over and they do not, I do promise you a nice long epilogue which will at least resolve matters as to the wedding and Georg's mysterious honeymoon plan. Till then, thank you for your patience waiting for this last official chapter, and thank you so much for what has been one of my favorite-ever experiences as a TSOM fanfic writer!**

 **Some random notes about this chapter: those who have read Maria's memoir may recognize bits from her childhood, the scene on the glacier and her arrival at the Abbey. Also, Georg in this story is a perfect example of how a character creates himself outside the author's sphere of control. This Georg obviously is a lusty fellow. He's never going to be able to separate love from passion. I didn't intend to make him that way but he just … is.**

 **Please leave me a review, especially if you want to see the epilogue! (I'm not above threats). Don't own, all for love.**


	11. Chapter 11

**EPILOGUE**

"What time is it?"

"Half-past three and a bit," Georg answered. He refrained from adding, "only ten minutes later than the _last_ time you asked me, darling."

"When did she say she would get here?"

"Before five. It won't be long now, Maria. She's not far away, you know. If we need her before that, we can telephone."

Georg knew perfectly well that there was no urgency to the midwife's arrival. Frau Vogl wouldn't be needed for some time to come, in fact. But much as he wanted to reassure his wife, he knew better than to share any wisdom borne of his previous experience.

It had taken only one misstep early in her pregnancy to teach him that lesson. He'd made the mistake of reassuring her that her morning sickness was only temporary, provoking a bitter outburst from Maria - "Is it to be _every_ day for the rest of the nine months, or only upon occasion, Georg, that you're going to lecture me in such a condescending fashion? Because this may be business as usual for _you_ , but it's my baby too, my _first_ baby! " – for him to learn to keep his advice to himself.

All day yesterday, when she'd flown around the house, frantically rearranging the pantry, nursery, and even the garden, all in preparation for the new baby, he'd kept to himself the certain knowledge that her time was near. Luncheon today had been a silent, tense affair, following a morning during which his normally cheerful, capable wife had flown off the handle at three of their seven children.

But when she'd sought him out in his study an hour ago, everything had changed. Maria was subdued, uncertain. "Georg? Can you – I think you might need to call Frau Vogl. When it started this morning, it didn't seem too terrible, but now it's starting to - I need to go upstairs." She turned to press her forehead against the wall, hands fumbling against her belly as she let out a breathy moan.

"All right," he said calmly when she had turned back to him, though his gut had begun to churn. "I'll call, and Liesl can take you upstairs-"

"No!"

"Frau Schmidt then."

"No! You. _You._ I only want _you_ ," she had insisted. "You're the one who's taken care of me from the beginning. And you've been through it seven times already, after all. Which _is_ a great comfort."

Somehow, the telephone call was made and he got her upstairs, into a nightgown, and onto the big bed. He drew the blinds part-way against the bright afternoon sun and fussed with pillows and water pitchers, tasks not normally in his domain. And all the while, Georg was silently lamenting that his wife had decided to depend on him for reassurance, just at the exact point where he had little reassurance to offer. The truth was that he was not at _all_ well prepared, not for this part of it.

First of all, it was four times, not seven; he'd been at sea for three of his children's births. Second, even though he'd technically been present those four times, the room had been full of Agathe's mother, aunts and cousins. He'd been happy to be relegated to a corner, trying not to feel guilty about how much he'd enjoyed the necessary part he'd already played in the proceedings.

This time, in contrast, it was just the two of them, and Maria was utterly focused on him; he could feel her eyes following him as he moved about the room. The only other presence in the room, a fiendish Beast Georg could practically see lurking in the corner, was fear. He had watched one wife suffer and die in this very room, and now his second wife – his little Fraulein, his miracle he'd found half-dead by the side of the road – was counting on him for a different outcome. It wasn't the same situation as Agathe's death, not at all, he knew that, but try explaining it to the Beast.

Maria lay back, watching stray dust motes dance in the golden rays of sunlight that snuck around the half-drawn blinds. She told herself to relax, but every nerve was tense with anticipation, and an awareness that this was _it:_ one of those moments in life where you were hurtling toward an unknown future, with no chance to hesitate or turn back, and even if it was a change you hoped and prayed for, it was still terrifying, somehow. She had felt this way in the robing room, when she'd first entered Nonnberg Abbey, the day after her moment of truth on the glacier. And that night in the gazebo, when she'd agreed to marry him, despite her misgivings. And she had felt this way just before beginning the long walk up the aisle at the Cathedral on their wedding day.

Watching him pace the room, Maria felt a flicker of guilt. For reasons she'd barely understood at first, she had held him at arms' length from the very start of her pregnancy, starting with the weeks she'd kept the tender secret from him entirely; she knew that had upset and angered him more than he'd ever admit. As the weeks and months went by, she'd treasured every roll, nudge and kick from within, but she rarely called those signs to her family's attention the way other mothers did. "Hello, little one," she had whispered, but only when alone in the bath or her dressing room, and after a while, she was able to admit to herself the reasons for her selfish behavior: fear. She was afraid that Georg would never, _could_ never, love this eighth child of his as intensely as she already knew she would, and she was afraid that her love for this child would eclipse her feelings for her seven stepchildren. Even now, Maria winced at the harsh word.

"Georg?"

"Hm?" He was staring distractedly into a shadowy corner of the room, where the sunlight couldn't reach, as though something were hidden there.

She bit her lip. "I haven't been very nice about all of this, have I? I haven't let everyone make a fuss over me, the way they did when I lost my memory. And I know perfectly well that you've been holding back all these months, trying not to tell me what to do. Even though you're usually very bossy-"

He laughed. "None of that matters, darling. We'll have a healthy new son or daughter, that's the important thing. Try to rest, would you?"

"But it is a comfort, Georg, knowing that you've – oh, dear God," she exclaimed, as the dreadful pressure took over her body, pinching and squeezing until she could not hold back a cry of distress. "Georg!" He was by her side, sliding his hands into hers and holding fast, murmuring wordlessly until it passed.

Then he smoothed the hair from her face. "You're doing fine, my brave Fraulein."

"It's not _too_ bad," she said. "Not like a toothache, or a hammered thumb, or the cut of a kitchen knife, when you can't get away from the pain for even a minute. With this, in between, I feel perfectly wonderful, like I could dance," but when she squirmed upright and swung her legs over the side of the bed, he stopped her.

"You've got to save your strength. This is only the beginning, you know."

"But you said she'd be here soon."

He frowned. "Yes, love, but the baby won't come until she's ready-"

"He," Maria corrected him automatically.

"In this house, they're usually girls, if you haven't noticed," he said with a wry smile. "The baby's likely not going to be here for hours, Maria."

"But you said Frau Vogl would be here in just a little while!"

"For God's sake," he blurted, "That woman was here a half-dozen times at least. Didn't she bother to explain what was going to happen? What was she doing all that time?"

"We-llll, she told me what to eat, and she listened to my heart, and she helped me bring the baby things down from the attic. And she said not to worry about the baby coming, it was all very natural and she would take care of everything. Why? Is there something she didn't tell me?" Maria flicked a worried glance in his direction.

"Never mind. Everything will be fine, darling." Was that the Beast, giggling in the corner? Sighing, Georg looked around, thinking of a way to distract her. "Would you like me to read to you?" He reached for the pile of books on her nightstand, but his nerves betrayed him and his clumsy hands knocked them all to the ground. All that remained was a slender volume covered in soft blue leather.

"My journal!" Maria protested. "Surely you're not going to read aloud from that!"

"Journal?"

"Don't you remember? Your sister gave it to me as we were leaving for our honeymoon, because I was always saying how I didn't want to forget a moment of it. When you've lost your memories, even if you get them back, you don't take new ones for granted. I wrote in it almost every day."

He had a vague memory of Hede pressing the slender package into Maria's hands as he hustled his bride into the car. The wedding breakfast was still underway, and a red-cheeked Maria had protested, "The way you're rushing us out of here, Georg, everyone is snickering," but he'd waved her concerns away.

"Of course they are. We're leaving on our honeymoon, for heaven's sake. Now hurry up, darling, we don't want to be late," he had said, flushed with joy, champagne and smug anticipation. He'd managed to keep the honeymoon plans secret, with Hede's help. She was the one who packed the small valise for Maria, and tucked it into the boot, while the trunkfuls of bridal trousseau were sent on ahead.

In the end, he'd overruled Maria on the wedding, insisting on every extravagance he could muster: the Archbishop, a choir, hundreds of guests filling the Cathedral, Maria in a long white dress and veil. It was the only way he knew to fight back against the gossip and speculation, although he had thought at times that the necessarily longer wait to have her in his bed would kill him. She'd gone along with the wedding plan, reluctantly, teasing him that the honeymoon would have to be twice as good to make up for it.

 _Twice_ as good. That was exactly what he'd had in mind from that very first night in the gazebo.

Maria smiled at the memories now: Georg had planned that honeymoon with the same strategic precision and flawless execution he'd brought into battle during his naval career. He'd timed things down to the minute, from the moment the driver started the car and pulled away from the villa. And he'd planned for every contingency, for example, the possibility that she would have been too nervous to eat before the ceremony, and too emotional and excited afterward. How grateful she'd been to find the lunch basket Frau Schmidt had left waiting in the back seat!

After lunch, as the car made its way up into the mountains, she'd drifted off to sleep on her new husband's shoulder until he gently shook her awake and the car slowed to a stop.

"Maria. We're about to descend. Come have a look."

She'd never seen anything like the landscape that opened up before her: they were poised at the head of a high, chalk-white cliff, glowing in the late-afternoon light. Below them, a stony slope dotted with red roofs and patches of gray-green undergrowth led to the wide promenade, lined with bright foliage. Beyond, stretching out to the horizon, lay the sun-glittered, azure sea.

"Where are we, Georg?"

"Trieste."

"Oh, Georg! _Trieste_. You remembered!" She'd clasped her hands together with obvious delight. But she hadn't figured the whole scheme out, not yet. There was another hour's confusion when the driver dropped them at the rough dockside inn, where they were shown to a cramped suite of rooms. Maria was a sturdy soul, but she knew her Captain's luxurious tastes well enough to know that this could not possibly be where they would spend their wedding night. Her confusion had only grown when he'd handed her the small valise and left her to change into the rough suit of clothing she found within.

"But where are our trunks?" she asked when he reappeared, similarly attired.

He'd only smiled mysteriously and hurried her down to the dock, where the freshly-painted little boat bobbed invitingly. As he raised the sail and navigated out onto the open water, she stopped asking questions and watched, mesmerized, as the setting sun painted spectacular colors across the evening sky. She thought of the evening on the glacier when she'd dedicated her life to God. Now, she and Georg were dedicated to each other.

They made the journey in a kind of expectant silence, barely exchanging a word until, an hour later, he'd moored the boat and helped her step out onto the beach. There was just enough light left to make out the tiny stone cabin set in a grove of tall trees.

"What _is_ this place?" she asked.

"It's an island. A private island. I bought it, more or less."

Her eyes went wide. "More or less?"

"I– ehrm, I rented it, that is. For three weeks. There's no one else here, and there won't be, either, unless we raise that flag," he nodded toward the flagpole, "if we need anything. I had it pretty well stocked, though, and we can fish, and-"

"I can hardly believe it!" Arms flung wide, Maria spun around in a slow, wide circle. "This is _perfect_. But poor Hede, all that fuss about a trousseau," she chuckled, gesturing to the rough trousers and shirt he'd given her. The little valise had held only the barest necessities; she wasn't going to need very much clothing at all, as far as he was concerned.

"Your trousseau has been sent on to Paris. Three weeks here, then three weeks there." He shrugged away her delighted cries – "I couldn't decide, so I got them both for you."

At last, Georg let himself relax. The wedding was behind them and they had arrived at their first destination to find everything exactly as he'd directed. He hadn't planned _everything_ down to the minute. For now, it was enough to spread a blanket on the sugar-soft sand and lie sprawled next to her as the moon turned everything silver, knowing that very soon, under a sky smeared with stars and with no sound except the shush of the water against the shore, he would make love to his wife at last.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Georg!"

The blue journal fell to the floor as she reached for him again. He could swear that he heard the Beast muttering in the corner as Maria shuddered and twisted against the pain until she slumped, pale and gasping, against the pillows.

Glancing at the clock, he wiped her face, brought her some water and then settled back into his chair. He retrieved the diary and with forced cheer he teased, "Do you mean to tell me that you documented our wedding night in here? I can't imagine how you managed to record the details when you didn't even know the word for-"

She laughed weakly, and he was gratified to see a pale wash of color return to her cheeks.

"May I?"

He waited until she'd nodded her consent before clearing his throat theatrically and opening the diary, only to make a clicking sound of disappointment. "But Maria, darling! This is _far_ too modest to be entertaining. The morning after, and all you have to say is, 'Now, Georg and I are _really_ married.' Was that the best you could do?"

It was hard to say who had been more shocked by what happened between them in the next three weeks: Maria, at the unimaginable variety of things that a man and a woman on a deserted island in the middle of the blue Adriatic could find to do with each other, or Georg, by the rapid transformation of a demure and innocent bride into an ardent, even inspired lover, and his own reversion back into the randy teenage boy he'd been three decades before.

Grinning at the thought of it, he pulled his chair closer to the bed, so they could both admire the clever sketches she'd entered in the journal, the Adriatic flora and fauna they'd observed while hiking around neighboring islands. Although he didn't remember very much in the way of hiking, actually; the only outdoor activity _he_ remembered had to do with a very strenuous test of just how limited the space on the little boat really was. Nonetheless, it was clear that Maria had documented, with painstaking care, every memory of their honeymoon.

"I'd forgotten this entirely!" Georg said. "Remember the afternoon we went back to the mainland?" They'd wanted to call home, and then, "I took you to the finest restaurant in Trieste, but you must have gotten a spoiled oyster. That's when _I_ knew we were really married," he shook his head at the memory of a long night spent holding her head while she was wretchedly sick.

She groaned, and at first he thought it was only her memory of the bad oyster, but then he realized she was already – and it hadn't been more than six or seven minutes, this time. The Beast cackled with glee. Maria tugged on his hands with surprising force, until they grew white and cramped with the strain, and he summoned from somewhere in his memory the only advice he recalled. "Breathe," he told her, trying his hardest not to look at the clock. "Just try to breathe deeply." Where was the damned woman, anyway?

When she fell back against the pillows, he made her comfortable and then began to page through the journal until he found her accounts of their time in Paris. "Remember, darling? The bateaux mouches at night? The opera? Notre Dame, the stained glass?" He was babbling, now, loudly, anything to drown out the Beast's cruel taunts, but it didn't matter. Maria wasn't paying attention to him anymore, not really.

The next three were closer together, and stronger, too.

"This is _much_ harder than I - I'm afraid I'm going to die," she told him in a small, despairing voice. "I know it's wrong, to say such a thing to you, but…" she trailed off.

"You are not going to die," he assured her. "I won't let you," he mustered every bit of authority he'd known as a naval commander, but he knew, better than most men, that he could make no such promise. And she knew it, too.

The Beast was howling now, so loud that Georg barely heard the doorbell, or Frau Vogl's steps on the stairs.

After that, time froze, or sped up, or disappeared entirely, Maria never really knew. The room filled with violet shadows, there were soothing words and cool cloths and sips of water, there were loud cries torn from her own throat, and the sound of children singing somewhere in the distance. And, throughout it all, there was a deep voice and a pair of strong hands that anchored her fragile body through the hurricane of pain and fear.

And then the blinds were open again, so that she could see her husband standing by the window, showing the silvery full moon to his sixth daughter. One look at him cradling the girl in his arms, and any reservations Maria had about a father's love for his eighth child simply vanished.

"She looks like a little monkey," Georg told his wife, whose eyes were bright with joy but whose face was gray with fatigue. She opened her mouth to protest, and he added, hastily, "Of course, little monkeys are the loveliest, sweetest creatures in the world. Everyone knows that."

"Will you bring the children in to meet her? Just for a moment," Maria whispered pleadingly. Suddenly, she yearned for the seven of them, missing them as desperately as if they'd been separated for months. Which, perhaps, they had been, in a way.

They tip-toed in, subdued and grave with the momentous milestone, the little girls suppressing yawns. "One minute," Georg warned them, "and then your mother has earned her rest."

After they had left, and Frau Vogl followed a few minutes later, he nestled his daughter into her cradle and sat by the bed again. Maria would sleep soundly now, at least until the baby needed her, but he was reluctant to leave her side. The Beast had vanished, but Georg knew he might reappear at any time.

He picked up the blue journal from where it lay on the floor and began to flip through it. The Bois, Montmartre, the little gallery where they'd bought that painting. "Missing the children," he read to himself, and then, "sad to leave, never another time like this." He turned the page and gave a grunt of surprise.

The page was blank. As was the next, and the next, and the next.

After Paris, she'd never written another word.

"Georg? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. "It's just that – do you know that, after we returned, you never wrote another word in your journal? You were so intent on capturing every memory! And then-"

"I got busy," Maria murmured, eyes heavy with fatigue. "Do you have any idea what it's like to run this house, and raise seven children, and carry an eighth?"

"Of course." Georg bent to kiss her forehead. "Rest now."

He thought she'd drifted off to sleep when he saw a smile curve her lips, and he had to lean forward to hear her last, drowsy whisper.

"I suppose - between love and memory? Love won."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **Thank you again for reading my story, and for the wonderful reviews and PMs. Please leave me one last review, wouldn't you? I hope you liked reading this story half as much as I liked writing it! This chapter draws on the RL story, of course, with a few of my own childbirth memories thrown in. The ansgty early pregnancy stuff comes from another story idea I've played with over the years. Don't own, all for love, and see you soon!**


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